


I Know I'm Not the Only One

by DoYourResearch



Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: Cheating, Deductions, Drug Use, Drug-Induced Sex, Emotional Manipulation, Explicit Sexual Content, F/M, John gets laid, Meddling Sherlock, Multi, Mycroft's Meddling, PTSD John, Post-Mary's Death, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Recreational Drug Use, Secret Intelligence Service | MI6, Spies & Secret Agents, The Science of Deduction
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-06-23
Updated: 2017-12-25
Packaged: 2018-07-16 17:47:57
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, No Archive Warnings Apply, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 11
Words: 54,998
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7277797
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DoYourResearch/pseuds/DoYourResearch
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It's been eight years since Mary and the baby died during childbirth. John is introduced to a bright medical student about to complete her studies and Sherlock is not thrilled to lose his attention. He teams up with his brother to solve the problem but worldwide chaos ensues as they realize meddling and manipulation are no longer their forte.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I'm taking a little break from "Destruction" to bring about a new story for you. I don't own any of the original characters from Sherlock and hope my newest characters can entertain you.

“Thanks for meeting me on such short notice. I don’t normally do this kind of thing so I figured I should just do it fast before I regret it.”

John mentally smacked himself as he looked across the table to his blind date. His jaw was hanging from his words and he blushed, shacking his head, “I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean it to come out that way.”

His date was the same height as him, which he was grateful for as he kissed her cheek when she had approached him outside of the café and introduced herself. They had been set up by his friend and her instructor, Mike Stamford. He had approached him in the morgue while chatting with Molly Hooper, the resident pathologist. John thought it a bit odd his very professional friend would recommend his young student as a potential partner. But then again, Mike somehow knew that Sherlock would make him an excellent, and complex, flat mate. 

Her name was Catherine Moyle and she looked like she was not even close to passing for twenty years old. “You’re a bit young for me, don’t you think?” John had asked when he was able to pull his jaw back up and form words.

Catherine smiled. She had high cheek-bones but full cheeks. Her eyes were dark but not cold or harsh. Her smile took over her entire face. She chuckled, “I’m twenty-seven.”

“Christ,” John said, running a hand over his face, “I feel like I’m robbing the cradle.”

“You’re not the first older man that I’ve gone out with,” she said which didn’t entirely comfort him but he tried to shake the idea from his head.

“I’m sorry,” John said quickly, “Let’s start again. Thank you for meeting me today, Catherine.”

Catherine smiled again, her eyes crinkled with the delight and amusement, “It’s a pleasure, John, but you can call me Cathy.”

“Cathy, right, got it.” John said, nervously knocking on the table with his knuckles. He smiled nervously and said, “It’s been a while since I’ve had to do this. I’m sorry that I’m a bit nervous.”

The younger woman reached out and placed a hand on John’s that was still tapping on the table and said, “It’s fine. You’re fine.” She gave him a comforting smile and pulled her hand back. Her skin had been soft and smooth and he almost reached out to take her hand back just to caress the skin. It had been so long. His heart lurched for a moment but he managed to contain himself.

“So,” John exclaimed, trying to making conversation quickly, “Mike tells me your specializing as an orthopedic surgeon. That’s an interesting choice.” He was rewarded for his quick change of topic with another smile followed by a smirk as she replied, “What can I say? I love bringing a grown man to his knees when I pop his pinky back into place.”

John couldn’t help but laugh heartily and genuinely. It had been so long since he had done so and she had caused it to happen within a few minutes of meeting. He was already getting a good feeling about her.

“I’ve had my fair share of that in the army,” John told her with his smile slowing fading. He willed himself to stay out of that dark place where he often trapped himself into thinking about all the violence, loss, and struggle of his time serving Queen and country.

Cathy tilted her head and watched him intently as she mentioned, “Dr. Stamford mentioned that. He said you were shot. Rubbish luck that is.”

John felt his temperature begin to rise. The café felt like it was boiling hot despite the fact a cold breeze gushed in every time a patron opened the front door into the cold fall afternoon. He chuckled nervously, “Yeah, it was a pretty rough recovery.”

Cathy’s kind face fell into a worried frown as she noticed his discomfort. She refrained from hitting herself as she groaned in embarrassment, “Now it’s I who’s gone and put their foot in their mouth. I’m so sorry. It seems like a tender subject. We can drop it if you want.”

John huffed a few times and shook his head but smiled at her consideration, “It’s quite alright but it used to be much worse.” There was a pause and then, “I’ve been getting help.” Another pause. “Therapy. I see a therapist. I might as well put that out there so that I can show you all my crazy early in the relationship.”

A smirk returned to Cathy’s face as she playfully asked, “Who said this was a relationship?” He stuttered nervously, trying to find the right words to say to cancel out his last statement but she giggled and reached out for his hand again, “Relax, I’m playing with you.”

“Oh,” John responded, feeling a bit silly. She continued, “And I think there’s nothing wrong with you seeing a therapist. I happen to have a high regard for mental health and treatment.” He smiled humbly, “Sherlock thinks it’s a waste of time but I’d like to think it really helps with what happened in Afghanistan and with Mary and the baby, as well.” He stopped and went pale, realizing what he had just said as she shifted uncomfortably in her seat.

“I’m so sorry,” John began to say with a groan and running his hand through his hair, keeping himself from pulling at it like he tended to when stressed. He looked into Cathy’s dark eyes, “I have way too much baggage for a gorgeous, young woman like you.” He began to get up but she tugged on his sleeve, “Sit back down.” She was surprisingly strong as he found himself plopping back into his seat against his will. He also didn’t put up much of a fight.

“You don’t need to humor me,” John told her but couldn’t look her in the eye again. She let go of his arm but kept her hands close to him just in case he made another move to leave. “We’ve all got baggage,” she said kindly, “This isn’t the airport. I don’t need to search through it and find the things I don’t like. You can tell me whatever you want in your own time. Let’s just enjoy the present for now.”

“Right,” John agreed, feeling a bit more chipper at her calm and collected attitude, “that seems best.”

Cathy sipped at the forgotten coffee in front of her and cringed at the weakness of it. It was no Starbucks but John had asked to meet here as he had told her it was a favorite place of his. She had never heard of Speedy’s and was a bit concerned by the humble shop front but the people inside had been genuinely nice when they took her order and were quite friendly with John.

“So,” Cathy began, “who’s Sherlock?”

John looked at Cathy with a slight amount of amusement and also skepticism. He blinked at her a few times and responded, “He’s my flatmate. A bit of a nutter, really, but he’s also my best mate. If you meet him you’ll probably never want to see me again. He has that affect on people.”

Cathy smiled, “Who says I’m not a nutter?” She was being flirty and he really liked it as it had been ages since he was able to talk to a woman and have her be receptive. He was worried he came across how he felt inside- sad, lonely, and pathetic.

“You’re too lovely to be a nutter,” he chuckled, and then added, “Or single in fact.” He couldn’t help but cheer inside as he watched her blush and respond, “And you’re too handsome to need to be set up on a blind date but here we are.”

“Right,” John coughed but still smiled, “can’t say I did much dating in medical school. There just weren’t enough hours in the day. I can’t be too surprised if you’re single.” He smirked at the memories of medical school. The countless hours studying the human body, the sleepless nights doing midnight shifts in A&E, the uncomfortable gynecological rotations they were all required to complete.

Cathy shrugged, “I don’t find it all too difficult to be social.” She sighed ever so quietly, “Finding someone who fits my standards is another story.” John’s face dropped a bit and cleared his throat, straightened his posture, and tugged his sleeves down to smooth the wrinkles. 

“Do-do I fit your standards?” He asked hopefully, causing the young brunette to smile and raise an eyebrow in amusement, “You might.”

John’s face burned red and his stomach somersaulted but he couldn’t help but smile like the total goof he felt like, “How can you tell?” She shrugged, sipping her cooling coffee. Some of her dark hair fell in her face but she made no attempt to move them away. In fact, she used them as a shield as she sheepishly replied, “I’m very good at reading people.” She cleared her throat nervously and continued, “I know it sounds loony but I think I have a sixth sense.”

After years of following Sherlock and handling many cases that claimed anything supernatural, he knew there was no such things as a sixth sense. Sherlock had managed to blow the lid of every case. It had only taken a decade for John to no longer believe in the impossible as Sherlock had always found a way to prove them possible.

“On yeah?” John playfully asked, “What have you read about me?” He felt almost giddy as he waited for her response. The playful banter and the clear attraction between them were making him feel almost euphoric. He hadn’t even noticed when his order of chips was placed in front of him.

“I don’t think I should,” Cathy replied hesitantly, “I don’t want to bring up any baggage again.” John shook his head, “It’s fine. I trust you. Tell me what you think of me.”

Cathy remained hesitant but obliged John. She finally brushed the hair from her face talked the chin length locks behind her ear. Her eyes met John’s for a brief moment and he seemed entranced by her movements. She smiled nervously, suddenly feeling under pressure but bit her lip and decided to tell him what she thought of him but not before giving him one last chance.

“You sure?”

“I am.”

Cathy nodded and took a deep breath, “You seem like a kind man who has an excellent moral compass.” John felt like that was nothing special or unique but he excepted it as a compliment but said nothing and let her continue. “It’s hard for you to relax because you tend to feel responsible for others but that’s also because of you trying to do what’s right.”

Sherlock popped into John’s mind and all the years of cleaning up after him, making sure he was well fed, and keeping him out of prison and away from drugs. He also considered Mrs. Hudson and how he often checked on her flat to make sure wasn’t in need of assistance or repairs as well as be an unwillingly teatime participant to keep her from being lonely. He thought of Greg and how often he checked on him to make sure he wasn’t in a dark place because of his cheating wife and to help him with paperwork from the cases that Sherlock participated in but never felt the need to help with the documentation for the police records. Molly also came to mind as he thought of the nights he had gone out with her to observe her dates when she was afraid to go out after Moriarty had strung her along. Her brief engagement to a tosser named Tom had left her scarred when it was discovered he had been cheating on her and had occasionally smacked her around after a few drinks. He wanted to make sure Molly felt safe on her dates seeing as how Sherlock had regularly ruined many of her attempts at having a personal life. Finally, he thought of Mary and everything he had done for her. How he had forgiven her when her true past had been revealed. He remembered working extra shifts in preparation for the baby that saved their marriage until she brought it crashing down. John wasn’t bitter at his unborn daughter who never had the chance cry when the umbilical cord had strangled her during delivery. Mary had succumbed to grief and blood loss.

John was going into a very dark place.

“I think you had a tumultuous relationship with your wife and it makes you a bit weary of dating again,” Cathy continued, causing John to sharped his gaze out her and hold a hand up to stop her, “Excuse me? But you don’t know a damn thing about my marriage.”

Cathy, who had been leaning onto the table towards John, sat up straight and frowned, “I’m sorry. I just assumed by your wedding band that-”

“What about my wedding band?” John snarled and ran a finger over his plain gold ring. She said nothing as she watched the man who was so sweet and funny immediately change into a man clearly plagued by demons. She felt weary of him but her heart did ache a bit at seeing someone who could never really be at peace.

Cathy wondered if she really should answer him but he growled, “What. About. My. Wedding. Band.” His voice was low and husky and she couldn’t help but blurt out nervously, “You wear it on your right hand and it looks like it’s never been polished.” She watched as John’s eyes began to unfocus and focus. His pupils dilated and contracted. He was looking at her but no longer seeing her. She wondered if she should just leave but thought better of it. 

John broke his stare at Cathy and looked down at his wedding ring. A scene flashed in his mind of the first crime scene he had ever gone to with Sherlock. It was the introduction of his current life. He had wrote a blog about; A Study in Pink. He remembered Sherlock examining the murdered woman’s jewelry and correctly deduced her condition of her marital status simply by observing the upkeep of all her jewelry and the clear lack of it in regards to the wedding band she wore.

John’s eyes focused again and he glared at Cathy, “That’s a fairly accurate assumption. Or should I say deduction?”

Cathy looked at him curiously as her eyebrows bunched up together and she tilted her head, “Deduction?”

“Don’t play stupid with me, little girl,” John hissed as he balled his hands into fists. She noticed it and leaned back a bit, afraid that he might actually hit her. It wasn’t hard to tell he was the walking poster boy for PTSD so she stayed still and hoped this outburst would pass. 

“You know what I’m talking about.”

“I don’t,” Cathy whispered, glancing around to make sure no one was observing them. She was relieved to see they were not drawing attention- yet.

John stretched his hands open but then closed them again and laughed almost maniacally but still quietly enough that he wasn’t causing a scene to the other patrons of the small café. She watched him carefully as he said, “It’s always about him, isn’t it? Nothing can ever be about me.”

“What are you talking about?” Cathy asked calmly with a hint of concern in her voice. She wasn’t sure how emotional she should act. She didn’t blame John at all for his behavior. His eyes gave him away. She could tell he wasn’t in a proper state of mind and she had decided to stand her ground and not run away. He clearly needed someone and she was not the type of person to back down when confronted.

“You’re trying to get to Sherlock. I’m not stupid,” John told her and then shook his head in disbelief. She shook her head as well but only to tell him he was wrong. He ignored her and then said, “Go on, then. Tell me what else you know. I’d love to know what Stamford told you about me.”

“Dr. Stamford didn’t tell me anything, John,” Cathy said earnestly but he didn’t hear it. He only demanded she tell him more. She tried to refuse him, “Why good is it to tell you your own story?”

John stubbornly refused to answer and waved a hand at her, not allowing her to avoid her continuing assumptions about his life. She didn’t want to oblige but she also wanted to avoid a scene. She looked him over felt her eyes begin to water but she refused to let a tear fall. She had watched children die in the hospitals, families destroyed by disease and accidents. She could keep a straight face through it all. She wasn’t a soldier but she had faced her own battles.

“Your wife died in childbirth. She was older and more at risk. I’m assuming the baby died then, as well,” Cathy said carefully. She expected him to lash out but he actually calmed a bit and then asked, “How do you know she was older? How do you know?”

“You keep calling me young. I’m not a little girl. You’ve never dated someone as young as I am or you wouldn’t have to keep making me aware of our age difference. I imagine she was as old as you. You also mentioned Mary and the baby. I just assumed,” Cathy explained her assumptions. John smirked in a way that her stomach twist nervously as he asked, “You just assumed? That’s cute. Sherlock will find that cute.”

“What does this have to do with your flatmate?” Cathy asked, confused as to why he had to keep bringing him up. Maybe they were a couple and she was interfering with their relationship? She had no idea what to expect anymore.

“He’s only the most famous detective in London,” John explained almost bitterly. He sounded like a man sick of living in a shadow. He was, after all, the man who took care of everyone else but no one else thought to take care of.

Cathy couldn’t help but roll her eyes and respond starkly, “Good for him but I have no need for a detective.”

“He’s all over the news.”

“Once again, good for him. I barely read the news. I don’t even know who Lady Gaga is because I’ve been too busy trying to do something important with my life,” Cathy couldn’t keep the annoyance out of her voice. She was trying her best to be patient with John but it was hard not to fall to his level and be a little defensive.

John aggressively dug his hand into his pocket and withdrew his wallet, “Let’s just settle this.” He pulled out a crisp 10pound note from the worn leather and slapped it on the table and announced, “Come with me.”

Before Cathy could even protest, John was standing and tugging her arm. He was a bit rough as he yanked her from her seat with just enough time for to grab her purse and coat as he pulled her out of the café. People were now staring at them but since they were leaving, she didn’t care.

“Where are you taking me?” Cathy exclaimed, as he quickly turned right. “To see Sherlock.” He told her as they immediately approached a black door, quickly whipping his keys from his pocket and unlocking the door. “What the hell for?” she questioned him. 

John spun around to face her before he opened the door, he still had a hand on her arm. “He can tell if you’re lying.” She looked at his angry face and shot back, “What is wrong with you?”

“With me?!” he exclaimed, “You know my entire life story and I want to know how!”

“I told you, I just know!” 

“I don’t buy that for a second,” he said, turning away but opening the door and pulling her through the dark doorway. When they stepped inside Cathy looked around and realized they were at the bottom of a tall, narrow staircase. She could see a door ajar at the top of the steps and another on the hallway of the floor they were on.

“Is this your flat?” Cathy asked incredulously, “You seriously couldn’t walk more than ten feet from your front door to meet me today?!”

John bellowed out, “Sherlock!”

“Or were you just planning on an easy shag?”

John let go of the younger woman’s arm and pointed a finger at her threatening, “Even if I wanted to shag you, there’s no chance in hell now.”

“SHERLOCK!”

A shrill voice called out, “John, dear, you’re back from your date already?” An older woman popped her head out of the door at the bottom of the stairs. She had a surprised look on her face that grew into a smile as she registered Cathy’s presence and cried out happily, “Oh! It must have gone well!”

“Um, hi,” Cathy mumbled. “Hello, dear, I’m Mrs. Hudson, his landlady,” she said with a growing smile on her face.

John looked at his landlady and refrained from yelling at her as she didn’t deserve the brunt of his anger, “Not the time, Mrs. Hudson.” He looked back to the top of the stairs, “SHERLOCK! You better be dressed!”

“Why wouldn’t he be dressed?” Cathy questioned, slightly panicked at the thought of being harassed by a naked stranger. There was finally a reply, “What do you want?!”

A tall man suddenly appeared at the top of the stairs. He had erratic curls and wore a white shirt and black slacks. He looked as if he had been in the process of getting dressed. He was grumpily tucking his shirt into his pants as Cathy groaned, “Please don’t tell me you were shagging him, too.”

“Quiet,” John barked at her, “and I’m not gay.”

“Who are you?” the man, who Cathy assumed was the infamous Sherlock, asked as he ran a hand through his dark hair. John motioned for her to walk up the stairs and as she ascended them she responded, “The traumatized date.”

Sherlock looked past Cathy to John who was walking behind her and looked him over, “You didn’t tell me you had a date. You’re not even wearing you typical date outfit.”

“Oh,” Cathy laughed sarcastically and turned to look back at John who was frowning up at his flatmate, “You have a date outfit? You don’t really lonely.”

“Would you both shut up!” John snapped. He pushed Cathy up onto the last step as she yelled in protest him. John was lost within himself and Cathy did not appreciate his roughness now. She was considering running now more than ever but when she could finally meet Sherlock’s gaze, she found herself scared and intrigued at the same time. Her body was deciding whether fight or flight was the best option but she decided observing might be the best.

John followed Cathy into the flat and immediately slammed the door shut, causing Cathy to jump back. She could hear Mrs. Hudson protesting from downstairs about respecting her property but no one made an attempt to shout an apology back to her. He put his hand on her back and pushed her toward Sherlock and looked to his friend and growled, “Deduce her.”

“What?” Cathy questioned, looking back and forth between the two men. She could feel them both staring at her but John’s eyes were burning at her while Sherlock’s were studying her.

“I thought,” Sherlock said, momentarily breaking his stare to look at John, “you told me to stop- what did you call it?” He called his hands, “Oh yes, terrorizing the guests.”

“Just do it. Now.” John ordered, his military upbringing showing in his voice, his posture, his entire being. If Cathy hadn’t feel threatened by him, she would have commented on how attractive it was. 

Sherlock looked back at Cathy, wondering what it was that John was looking for specifically. He could read her like a book but he couldn’t determine what detail was the one that had brought his friend here in a hurry. He was fully aware that John was not right and that he was currently having an episode. It had been quiet a while since he had witnessed his friend in such a rage and he had a few deductions as to why he might be upset. He decided to wait to see what John wanted and what he could deduce before he worried about blaming the young woman for provoking his blogger.

“What on Earth for?”

“She knows,” John huffed, “She knows all about my life. She knows about Mary and the baby and I want to know how.”

With another quick glance at Cathy, he nodded and moved himself to stand directly in front of her. His tall body loomed over her short one but he held a hand out and gently asked, “May I?” She looked up to meet his eyes and did not see any anger so she shrugged, “Can’t be any more dangerous that him.” She took his hand and looked down as he wrapped his fingers gently around her wrist. She realized instantly that the pads on his pointer and middle fingers were gently resting on the pulse in her wrist.

“I’m going to ask you some questions and I need you to answer truthfully,” Sherlock said calmly, not breaking his stare from her face. It made her uncomfortable but she nodded.

“What is your name”” Sherlock asked.

“Catherine Moyle.”

“When were you born?”

“March 16, 1988.”

“Where were you born?”

“Leeds.”

“How did you meet John Watson?”

“Dr. Mike Stamford set us up.”

“Did he tell you about John’s wife and child?”

“Only in passing.”

“How did you know about their deaths?”

“John brought them up and he stills wears a wedding band on his right hand so I assumed.”

“No,” Sherlock said, startling her with the change of pace the questioning had eased her into. She frowned, “What do you mean, no?”

Sherlock let go of her wrist and wiped his hand on his pants. She pretended not to notice or be insulted. He looked to John again and saw he was watching them intently, awaiting his verdict.

“You did not assume. You deduced.”

“Why do you both keep using that word?” Cathy asked with true curiosity as she momentarily forgot the man staring daggers into her back. 

“What direction the knocker on the door turned to?” Sherlock asked. 

“To the right, why?”

“What color was Mrs. Hudson’s nail varnish?”

“Dark purple.”

“And the color of John’s eyes?”

“Grey.”

“She’s telling the truth.”

“What?” John said in disbelief. She looked to John, offended that he still doubted her and her intentions. “That’s impossible. Look at her again.”

“Why do you declare it impossible?” Sherlock asked, almost taunting John but he took the bait and said, “She’s not you.”

Cathy looked at John and asked with an offended tone, “What are you insinuating?” Sherlock answered for his flat mate, “He doesn’t believe it’s possible for you to possess the same skills as myself.” 

“What skills?” she asked him. She was getting so confused with everything that was happening. She couldn’t understand how she was still standing in the flat of a stranger and a mad man.

“The power of deduction.”

“It’s not a superpower so why is this such a big deal?” Cathy asked to the two men. John came back to the conversation, “I would know if she was like you, Sherlock.” 

“No,” Sherlock stated, “your observational skills have always been lacking. You know what she is capable but you can’t comprehend it. She deduced you, John, but she is no sociopath.”

Sociopath? Did John really think that’s what she was? She did not meet any of the clinical requirements for such a diagnosis but thankfully his eccentric flatmate felt the same. She felt insulted enough and declared, “I think we’re done now. This is not my idea of a good date.” She looked to John, “In case you were wondering how this was going.”

John blushed but could not say anything. Cathy watched for a moment in awe as he seemed to shrink. His shoulders began to roll forward into a more relaxed position, his eyes softened, and his jaw unclenched. He was coming back.

“Perhaps, John,” Sherlock began, “you should take the advice you often bestow upon me and apologize. Though I’d say for dating above your intellect.”

Cathy couldn’t help but laugh and look to Sherlock with a grin, “Why, thank you!”

“Don’t compliment her!” John exclaimed and rubbed in forehead, willing an approaching headache to subside from these events. Cathy looked back at her embarrassed date and said, “Waiting on that apology.”

“I think I’ll leave you to it then.” Sherlock said as he swept to the doorway and grabbed a long, dark coat from a hook on the wall. He threw the door open with gusto and disappeared down the stairs without a backwards glance. 

Cathy stared at John expectantly for several moments. He refused to look toward her face until she cleared her throat and said, “Well?”

“This,” John said and paused, “did not go as planned.” The young brunette smirked and raised an eyebrow in amusement, ”Do you normally have your flatmate screen your dates?

“Christ, no!” John exclaimed and then chuckled at the notion, “I normally need to hide them from her or he’ll scare them off.”

“Glad I could be the exception.” Her voice was still playful and the smirk did not fade. It actually confused him as he would not have blamed her for smacking him ages ago and running away as fast as she could. His behavior had been appalling and he couldn’t help himself. He knew it was no excuse and he did not want her pity.

John sighed, “You must think I’m a total ass.” She tilted her head from side to side, humming as she pretended to consider his statement before saying, “Yeah, and I’m beginning to understand why you’re still single.”

Another sigh from John, “You don’t know the half of it.”

Cathy kicked herself as she said flirtatiously, “You just keep tempting me more and more.” She should really run. Why was she picking this up again?

“Tempting you to smack me, most likely,” John joked back. He was beginning to feel the flutters he had felt downstairs. Was he actually going to salvage this disaster of a date? He could only hope.

“No,” she replied, “I prefer to be the one being smacked.” She paused and then said with a playful wink, “On the ass.” Her face went red as she realized what she had said. This was not one of her friends that she could make these kinds of jokes with. She was always vulgar but she instantly that she should not have said that. 

“Christ,” John breathed out in a low, deep voice. It barely met her ears and the sound made her knees just a tad weak. She composed herself and then cringed at her own behavior and said, “I’m sorry. I was trying to lighten the mood. That was very inappropriate.” 

John let a small smile grow on his face, “Is there even a mood left to salvage?”

“Well, I’m still waiting for that apology.”

John sighed loudly, realizing he was still quite an ass. He ran his hands through his hair and barely met her eyes as he said, “Cathy, I’m so sorry. I really am.” He stopped and thought about everything they had just gone through together and then asked nervously, “You really don’t know how you tend to know things?”

Cathy thought about it for a moment and replied, “I don’t and those things Sherlock said. I don’t know if he’s right but maybe I’m just more observant than I realize.”

“Sherlock’s almost always right. It’s bloody annoying. His brother is exactly the same way. They just look at people and know everything about them,” John explained.

“That sounds intense,” she said, “but I swear I’m not like that.”

“Maybe you are and you just don’t want to believe it.”

Cathy bit her lip as she considered having a skill that she never knew about. It sounded like she had just discovered a superpower when it was hardly that. She considered it and said, “Possibly, but I do know that I shouldn’t have let it go so far downstairs.”

“Maybe,” John agreed, “but of all those you could tell about me, and everything I just put you through, none of it scared you away. You’ve been standing here the whole acting as if this happens to you all the time.”

“Was there supposed to be a question?”

“I don’t know,” he said and smiled warmly, “if I’m more impressed or scared.”

Cathy chuckled and took a cautious step toward John, “Perhaps, we should start over?”

“Again?” John asked in slight disbelief, as he watched the young woman approach him slowly. She shrugged, “Why not?”

“How many strikes am I entitled to?” He asked as he began to reach a hand out to her waist, hoping the touch would be allowed. She didn’t seem to be recoiling. “How many do you think you’ll need?” she asked, allowing his fingers to conform to the curves of her hip. The touch felt nice and wondered for a moment if she was making a huge mistake as she placed a hand on his chest, lightly tapping her fingers over his sternum.

“I’m a work in progress. Like I said, I see a therapist. I’m bound to cock it up a few times,” John said nervously, afraid that stressing the fact that he had a problem would make her come to her senses but he felt he had to lay it out for her again.

“It’s ok,” she said calmly. He looked at her with a bit of surprise, “Really?”

“Really.”

“I’m sorry I struck out today. I really wish I hadn’t,” John groaned, ashamed of his actions but glad she was letting him put his other hand on her waist. 

Cathy couldn’t help but chuckle, “It’ll make one hell of a story for Ladies’ Night.”

“That seems pretty fair,” he said and looked into her dark eyes, wondering if he should make the first move. She raised her other arm and draped it over his shoulder as she smiled almost devilishly, “You, at the very least, owe me that.”

John nodded, realizing he was beginning to breath heavily, “I think I owe you more than that.”

“How about you kiss me and we call it even?”

John’s heart felt ready to burst as the request. He gulped and quickly asked, “You seriously want to kiss me after all of that?”

“Why not?” she asked back with a husky voice that began to stir something below the waist. He was afraid she would feel him as she lightly pressed herself closer to his body. 

John gulped again, “Maybe, you should be the one seeing a therapist.” She didn’t break the now intense stare she had fixed on him. Her cheeks were beginning to burn red but he knew it wasn’t from embarrassment. 

Cathy willed John to close the gap between them and when he didn’t she said, “Please, just kiss me.” It was a plead and all that John need to pull her body hard against him and press his lips against her incredibly soft ones. 

Moans filled the air and neither knew who was making what noises. His parted her lips with his tongue and savored the feel of her curling her fingers in his hair. He was throbbing and hard, pushing himself against her hips but she didn’t seem to care. In fact, she was moving her hips in a slow but short rhythm into his. He gasped when she grinded against him once but with more force that caused the most amazing friction between them. 

With their lips separated, Cathy took the chance to attack the flesh where his shoulder and neck met. She kissed and licked the sensitive flesh as she began to run a hand from his shoulder, down his chest. He groaned at the feeling as he ran a hand to grope her firm arse, using his hand to push her harder against himself.

John forgot all worries he had been feeling when she pulled away from his neck and whispered into his ear, “I want you.”

It was all the encouragement he needed to push her backwards towards the couch while she made quick work of his belt. She pulled it from the loops in a swift pull and allowed it to drop to the floor, the buckle landing with a loud thud that they ignored. John grasped the edges of her sweater and pulled it up. She raised her arms so that he that he could remove it was ease.

The thin black bra Cathy wore was a stark contrast on her white skin. He looked into her eyes for a moment before leaning forward to kiss her collarbone, biting and sucking his way down her chest while pulling the lace cups down so her breasts spilled over the fabric. He brushed his calloused thumbs over her dark nipples, causing her to groan and grip his hair again.

John had just taken her left nipple into his mouth and swirled his tongue around it when she fell back onto the couch and pulled him down with her. Sherlock had left files on the cushions and he could care less as they fell to the ground, papers scattering across the dusty floor.

After positioning himself carefully on the younger woman’s body, he panted over and asked, “Are you sure?”

“I’m sure,” she breathed out. He watched as she sucked air through her swollen lips before crashing his lips against her’s once more. He enjoyed the feel of their tongues fighting for dominance for a few moments more before he pulled back and tugged his own sweater off, throwing it across the room.

Cathy’s hands quickly went to John’s pants again, popping the button through the fabric hole and carefully pulling the zipper down. He leaned back on his heels to give her the room before slipping off of her to stand up again.

John pushed the fabric of his open pants down, looking at Cathy’s face she watched in anticipation as his boxers were pushed down as well. She smirked up at him as he spring free from the cloth prison. He groaned in pleasure as well as surprise when she pushed herself off the couch and quickly dropped to her knees.

John could not recall a woman he didn’t have to ask to do this. He moaned loudly as she took his length in her hot mouth as far as she could and rather enthusiastically. Her tongue rode along the underside of his cock and swirled around the head every time she pulled back but never letting him pop out of her mouth. He carefully weaved his fingers into her hair, not needing to guide her through her well-executed motions.

It was a little embarrassing but he didn’t want this to end so soon. He took a deep breath and pulled his hips back and grabbed Cathy’s arms, pulling her to her feet. She looked at him without any expression. Her eyes were dilated and lips were more swollen than before and so red. He cupped her cheek in hand and pressed his lips against hers once work, craving the feel of her lips on his.

Without breaking the kiss, John began to push her jeans down with her panties. She helped him by wiggling her hips a few times until they fell down to her knees. He then reached behind her and unsnapped her bra with ease. She normally would have made a snide comment about such a skill but her mind was focused on the deed they were about to perform. John pulled back from the kiss and guided her back to the couch, laying her down so he could pull her jeans off entirely while she tossed her bra away.

John took a moment to stand over her and looked over her entire body. He could not believe this beautiful creature had accepted him. He appreciated her heaving chest, her gorgeous curves, and the flush that covered her waiting body. His eyes snapped to hers and he said sound appreciatively, “You are absolutely stunning.”

He didn’t think it was possible but her cheeks burned redder and he smiled, “I mean it.”

“You are a beautiful man, John,” she panted back and held a hand up to him. He took it in his before he carefully lowered his body back onto hers, groaning at the feeling of her legs wrapped around his waist. He kissed her fiercely as she wrapped her arms around him and dug her fingers into his back. He slid his mouth from her lips and kissed down her neck and then littered his chest with kisses once more. He cupped her left breast in his hand again and lightly bit her nipple.

“John,” she panted, please. Please.”

He released her breast and ran his hand back to her face. Her fingers slipped behind her neck and he pulled her face closed to him as he kissed her again. She moved her body up against him and within a few moments he was perfectly positioned between her legs. He broke the kiss once more and looked into her eyes. They were so dark yet warm, like he could fall into them. She nodded to him as he searched her face for understanding and closed his eyes. With a deep groan, he pushed into her hot, slick cunt. She gasped as he filled her and her legs tightened around him and her fingers pushed deeper into his back.

John buried himself until his hips were flush against her own and took a moment to savor the delicious heat around his own flesh. Cathy’s eyes were shut tight but she did not appear to be in pain. She panted heavily, slowly massaging her fingers into his muscles. He dipped his head and buried his nose in her hair, breathing heavily into her ear. She turned her head slightly and pressed a wet kiss behind his ear and sighed with content. 

Cathy slipped her hand from his back brought it between their bodies so that she could rest it over his shoulder to mesh with is hair. She tugged gently on his locks and then whispered, “Fuck me, John.”

That was all he needed to hear as he pulled his hips back and thrust into her slowly but forcefully. Every timed thrust made her shudder and hold him tighter. Her heavy breathing urged him on and he continued for several minutes. He raised his head to look into her face several times to make sure she was ok and never saw any sign to stop. He kissed and bit the flesh on her neck, her shoulders, her chest, and her lips. He wanted to worship her and make sure she knew it.

Cathy groaned louder and louder as he continued his treatment. It was intense- almost too intense but also perfect and exciting. He filled her in a way she had never felt before and his toned body felt like it had been cast to fit against her own. Her hips were angled just right and her legs locked around his waist ensured his pelvis ground against her clitoris just right. 

John’s kisses stole the air from her lungs but she never wanted him to stop. She would happily suffocate with his lips on hers. When he panted in her ear she couldn’t help but hold him even tighter, urging him on by pushing her hips into his. They crashed together over and over again until finally she cried out when she felt herself go over the edge that she didn’t know she was standing at. Her entire body pulsed with her rapid heartbeat and she moaned uncontrollably. Her wet lips were against John’s ear. The sound combined with her spasmodic body allowed him to follow her over that edge. With he a long groan he spilled himself deep inside her.

John buried his face into her soft hair again, not capable of pulling himself from her body. Cathy’s legs had relaxed but she had rested her ankles against the back of his calves and stoked his back with one hand and ran her fingers trough his hair with the other. One of his hands had slipped under her back and the other stroked the side of her face gently. 

Several minutes had passed before John lifted his head with a groan and looked into her eyes. Her pupils were still dilated but had shrunk compared to the minutes before. He smiled lazily down at her, “That was amazing.” She returned the smile as lazily as he had, “I agree.”

“I’m sorry,” John said, as he glanced back toward their still joined hips, “I should have used protection.”

Cathy frowned, “I don’t normally throw caution to the wind like that. I’m on the shot though and I’ve been tested. I am clean.” She ensured him but he could tell she realized how reckless they had just been. He cautiously braced his weight onto his hands and pushed himself off her body. They both moaned as he slipped out of her.

“I’m clean as well,” John replied back and ran a hand through his hair. He had not expected it to suddenly become awkward. He looked down at the mess between her legs and said, “Let me get you something to clean that up. Would you like to use the shower?”

“Are you sure you don’t just want to me to go?” Cathy asked in response. She could sense John’s nervousness and wondered if he immediately regretted what they had just done. He stopped moving and looked at her in shock, “No! God, no!” He exclaimed, “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to give you that impression.”

Cathy couldn’t help but smile as his flustered disposition, “I just didn’t want to make you feel like you have to humor me now.”

“I want to humor you,” John quickly said and blushed. He thought that sounded silly. He shook the thought from his head and approached her again and held a hand out to her. She took it without hesitation and allowed him to help her to her feet.

“I’m not sure how well I can stand,” Cathy laughed and braced herself by put her hands on John’s shoulders. He couldn’t help himself as he dipped his head and kissed her quickly. When he pulled back she smiled, he took that as a good sign.

“Perhaps,” John said, “I should help you with that shower.”

“I’d like that very much,” Cathy said warmly.


	2. Chapter 2

Cathy looked down at the exams with tired, blurry eyes. She had long ago lost the amusement she felt at the beginning of grading when the students had come up with some creative but terribly wrong names for the bones in the hands and feet. As she was Mike Stamford’s teaching assistant, she was left to do all the tedious work such as grading tests, reading report after report, and filing all the grades to be sent to the registrar. It wasn’t necessarily hard work but it filled the hours and become so dull. There were only so many ways to write an eight-page report on the digestive system. 

“How’s the grading going?” Mike asked as she popped his head into the small office allotted to his prize pupil. He smiled at her with rosy cheeks as he had just come in from the cold. His grey and maroon stripped scarf was still tucked tightly underneath his full chin. Cathy forced a smile and looked up at him, “You’d think by now these kids would know the parts of the hand. I hardly think they deserve a curve.”

Perhaps, she wondered, if she was just too cruel to the younger students. She was slightly older than the average student finishing their studies but she had to work two jobs during her first years studying medicine and had only been able to study part-time. Her mother had been struggling with new medications as her diagnosis of bipolar and depression had become increasingly hard to treat. It was almost a relief when she overdosed on her prescription of quetiapine. She was grateful that her mother had slipped quietly into a coma before passing away peacefully. She had spent years watching her mother suffer unfairly from demons that no doctor or medication could ward off. In death, she knew, her mother was finally free. Despite those events in her early twenties, she managed to keep perfect grades and was graduating at the top of her class.

“Kids these days don’t know what hard work is anymore,” Mike sighed. He looked over the younger woman before pulling at his scarf and unbuttoning the top buttons of his jacket. It was uncomfortable to have his clothes so tight around his neck but it blocked the ruthlessly cold London air. Winter was coming quickly and he was not happy about it.

Cathy huffed, throwing her pen down on the desk. Her hand had begun to cramp as she marked question after question with red x after red x. “I don’t know how they expect to be doctors when they can’t tell the bones from the hand from the bones from the foot,” she complained. She rubbed the indent in her right forefinger created from gripping her pen so tightly over the passing hours.

Mike gave her a more cautious smile and changed the topic, “Not to pry but how did you and John get off the other day?”

Cathy blushed fiercely, wondering why Mike had to use the phrase ‘get off’ over any other. She smiled to herself as she replayed the events of the chaotic date that ended with them shagging for several hours. She had been so sore by the time she had left the strange flat. It wasn’t until she had gotten to her own flat that she discovered John Watson had kept her panties as a souvenir, sending her a picture of them laying on his bed next to a rather vulgar stain they had created on the sheets. They were both so filthy minded but she had to admit it was one the best shags she had had in ages.

“Not bad,” was all Cathy had to stay to her mentor. Her face burned brightly. He couldn’t help by smile widely, “Any chance of a second date?”

Mike was clearly prying now but Cathy couldn’t blame him for inquiring about whether or not he had done his good friend a solid. “I think so,” she replied, trying to suppress the embarrassment she felt talking about John to her instructor. How many people can say that their goofy teacher had been the best wing-man ever? She had to be professional despite the fact they were on friendly enough terms that Mike had taken an interest in her personal life. In a few short months, they would no longer be acquainted by academics but would be professional colleagues so she tried not to think too much about it.

“That’s good,” Mike beamed, stuffing his scarf in his coat pocket, “He’s a great man. I’m glad it went well.” With a friendly wink, Mike was gone as fast as he had arrived, quietly closing her office door on the way out. She couldn’t help but cover her flustered face with her hands and laugh uncontrollably at it all.

_______________________________________________

John had just come up the stairs, balancing a tea set on a tray into their living room. Sherlock was chewing on the end of a pipe he had found in a shoebox under some files that were at least six years old. He was staring furiously at the couch, his eyebrows knitted tightly together between his eyes. The doctor thought it was quite gross to put the old pipe in his mouth but said nothing when Sherlock asked Mrs. Hudson to add tobacco to the weekly shopping list. She simply remarked, “It’s been over ten years, Sherlock! I’m not your housekeeper!” Naturally, Sherlock ignored her comment and she wrote it on the list anyways.

“Mrs. Hudson is out of those biscuits you like,” John informed him as he set the tray down carefully on the end table by his own chair. He poured himself a cup and sat down to observe his strange friend.

Sherlock had been gone for several days. He had disappeared from the flat after the scuffle Sherlock had participated in between his best friend and his traumatized date. John had no clue where Sherlock had been but he saw no track marks or signs of drug use so he didn’t pry too much. Over ten years with his best friend had allowed him to read him well enough to know when he should be concerned and when to give the consulting detective his space.

“I can’t believe you,” Sherlock finally said after several minutes of silence. He spun around to stare at John, his open dressing gown dramatically spun behind him. He stood before John in his pajama bottoms and a white cotton shirt. John knew well enough that Sherlock had not slept in days and was in preparations to sleep for at least 12 hours. 

John sipped his tea and looked up at his friend with an amused look, “What is it now?” A large frown grew on Sherlock’s face. He yelled, “Is nothing sacred in this flat?” The teacup was slowly lowered and placed back on the tray for safety, “Sacred? Just last week you used the walls for crossbow target practice!”

Sherlock looked offended at the comparison John had just made to whatever it was that John did not know about. The doctor knew to stand his ground early on, even if he had no clue what the problem was. He knew his friend could tell he was confused.

“I sit on this couch!” Sherlock hollered and then added, “Regularly!” He dramatically gestured to the couch as if John had set fire to it.

“What?” John asked with a chuckle but he was starting to realize what Sherlock was not so subtly alluding to. His smile was widened as he watched Sherlock finally say his accusation out loud and forwardly, “You _fornicated_ with Miss. Moyle.”

“I did,” John said, trying his best not to laugh. Sherlock scowled. With a sarcastic tone he said, “Congratulations, but that’s why you have a bedroom!”

John rolled his eyes, “And I put _food_ in the fridge and you insist on storing body parts in it. Consider us even.” He reached over to the end table and grabbed the paper he had intended to read earlier but had forgotten about. He snapped it open and began to read the uneventful headlines, ignoring the glare from the other side of the paper.

“You’re going to see her again, aren’t you?” Sherlock asked accusingly. John did not lower the paper but he answered as if it were fact, “That’s the plan, Sherlock. Why is it any of your business?”

“To insist you stop having relations on my couch.”

John lowered the paper, smiling over the top edge of it, “Will do.” He paused for a moment and smugly added, “But no promises about the rest of the flat.”

Sherlock knew that John was kidding. Mostly. He was still not happy about the response but he shot back, “I’m happy you found a companion willing to have sex with you after that show you put on. Next time, leave me out of it.”

“Believe me,” the doctor shot back, “I don’t want you to have anything to do with my sex life.”

There was silence for several minutes as John attempted to get back to reading the first paragraph of his newspaper but he couldn’t concentrate on the print. He groaned in frustration and folded it back onto his lap, “Do you like her?”

Sherlock was examining dusty trinkets that had accumulated on the mantel over their fireplace. It was getting cold enough that they were going to have to start making fires soon. It was the doctor’s favorite time of year. He loved the smell of the fire and crackling and popping sound that could be heard all the way up to his own room.

“What does it matter if I approve of her or not?” Sherlock responded, not looking at his friend but picking up a small puzzle box and running his fingers over the near invisible joints of it. 

“It doesn’t, I just-”

“She’s not Mary,” Sherlock cut him off. John looked at his flatmate almost stunned as he continued, “Which in your case, can be seen as both a good and bad thing.” With an annoyed sigh, Sherlock finished, “She’s just not utilizing her full potential.”

John looked at Sherlock as if he was crazy, which was quite true, but it was a different kind of crazy. He argued, “She’s becoming a doctor. That’s quite an accomplishment.”

“You’re a doctor, of course you’d say that.”

“It’s not easy to become a doctor, Sherlock,” John spat the words out, gripping the paper on his lap tightly. Sometimes he wanted to whack the younger man to see if it would knock some decency in him. He knew it would never work but it would feel so rewarding. The consulting detective looked at John before rolling his eyes in annoyance, “She’s clearly capable of more. She’d make an excellent detective.”

“So, what?” John asked, “You’re looking for a protégé now? You want to replace me?” Sherlock pretended to look as if he were thinking about it before smirking, “Of course not.” He then chewed his lip for a moment and added, “But if she was around, I’d never have to leave the flat for anything less than a 9.”

“No!” John protested, starting to get up. He was pointing a finger at the detective with one hand while bracing his back with the other as he stood up. He did not appreciate what getting older was doing to his body. He was only a few months shy of his fiftieth birthday. 

“No,” John said again, “Absolutely not. I’m trying to date her, not recruit her.”

Sherlock rolled his eyes again, “Why can’t you just do both?” He said it as if it was a normal and reasonable suggestion. John felt his face burn as he blood pressure went up. The last thing he wanted was to date someone he also had to work with. He imagined it would be like dating a female version of Sherlock though she had a nicer personality. He shook his head as suddenly a vision of the blonde woman he had married crossed his mind, “No,” John said more firmly, “I will not date another Mary.”

“Like there could ever be another Mary,” Sherlock said, almost offended that John could suggest that Cathy could be compared to her. Had Sherlock been interested in having relations with other people, he would have actually enjoyed Mary. He knew better than to say it out loud to anyone, especially John, but it was no secret Sherlock was one of Mary’s biggest fans. He had always known she was a liar but when it came out she had been a spy for several countries and had skill sets that Sherlock could only dream about, he was enamored. He was also more impressed that she had been so good at keeping it all hidden from both Sherlock as well as Mycroft. She was a talented woman and Sherlock would forever miss her.

“If you loved her so much, why didn’t _you_ marry her?!” John shouted. His temper had boiled over and he had decided he was done with the conversation. With heavy steps, he went up to his room and slammed the door. Once it was closed, he slammed his back on it and let out a sob. He covered his face in his hands and let tears he did not know he was holding back flow down his cheeks.

There was a scratching sound as John wiped the salty droplets from his stubble-covered face with his calloused fingers. He wiped his damp hands on his trousers and took several deep breaths. He knew he was a damaged man and he really wished he wasn’t. He had discovered his friends from school and the army online. Mrs. Hudson’s grandson had come to visit nearly six months prior and had been horrified that the three aging residents of 221 Baker Street did not use social media. He had been forced into posing for an awkward picture and listing personal details. It had only taken a few weeks before friend requests poured in from old contacts.

John had been pressured into many meetings and gatherings as old acquaintances wanted to reconnect. He had even had reunions with former flames that had been the most miserable of them all. The women were mostly unhappy and felt like they had missed out and hoped that they could rekindle something from over three decades ago to feel alive again. John tried to oblige them but when Betty Finkle had tried to pounce him in the front seat of his car and he threw his back out, he realized it was wrong. He couldn’t bring back his youth, nor did he want to. He just wanted to get out of the past and that’s what his new goal was. He wanted a new life and he wanted to be happy. 

He didn’t want to be PTSD John anymore. He didn’t want to meet with army mates and talk about all the god-awful things they had done. They always found ways to laugh about people they had killed in battle or things that had gone awfully wrong. John had been the one who had to clean up the mess. They never realized what he meant when he had to stitch the wounded from their own side as well as the enemy or the innocent civilians. All the blood he had had on his hands and he could never tell whose it was. 

It took several minutes before John could relax enough to push away from the door. He was going to need an extra visit to his therapist at the rate he was going. He was still humiliated about his outburst on his date with Cathy and he did not want it to be a regular theme to their dates. She could clearly handle his condition once but how long before it proved too much? All of his friends from the army were on their second and third wives. They all told tales of woe about finding someone who could love them despite the setbacks that the PTSD caused but their wives had all reached a breaking point and eventually left. He didn’t know how far he and Cathy could be expected to go but he didn’t want to damage or bring her to his level. She was young. So young. She didn’t deserve.

It wasn’t Cathy’s age that excited John. In fact, in made him hesitant yet she seemed passionate and free. They had devoured each other despite barely knowing one another. She was so carefree and confident that she had never once tried to cover her body. He felt it was wrong to compare lovers but he had thought back to his younger days when he and his partners were near Cathy’s age. He had always been told that women became more confident and secure with their bodies with age but he was finding it less true. He found partners that he had went to bed with closer to his fifty years to still insist on having the lights off and leaving articles of clothing on to hide flaws he did not even notice or care about. 

John could never judge a beautiful woman like Cathy but he was shocked when they had showered together. She ran her hands all over his body and kissed scars and freckles. It was overwhelmingly intimate and it filled John’s heart as the warm water cascaded over them both. He wondered if he was feeling too much too soon but when he turned around after she had just pressed kisses against the scar above shoulder blade from where he had been shot, she didn’t mind as he kissed her deeply and passionately. She had weaved her hands into his wet hair and pulled him as tightly against her as she could.

John groaned as he felt a tightness begin to grow in his pants. It had occurred numerous times over the few days since their meeting and he wondered if it was too soon to contact her for a second meeting or if he should just take care of his problem by himself. Again.

It had been four days. That was surely enough time to reach out to her without sounding desperate, he felt. They had shared a few random texts but none that alluded to meeting again. In his aroused state, he was suddenly concerned any attempt he might make to set up plans would sound like he was only interested in sex when he was just as interested in her company. He groaned again and decided he would handle the situation by himself and then reach out to her when he wasn’t thinking about her tight cunt and smooth skin.

With a relieved moan, John unzipped his pants and wrapped his rough hand around his hard flesh and thought of her.

\--------------------------------------------------------------------------

Cathy could not get out of St. Bart’s fast enough. She had powered through grading the last of the huge stack of exams and papers in lieu of coming in the following afternoon. Her lecture had been cancelled and she wanted to enjoy having the entire day off. She considered asking if John wanted to have lunch. And possible a shag but she didn’t want to scare him off by making him think she was a sex addict. It had been ages since she had such a connection with someone in the bedroom. And the shower. And the living room. Yeah, he was definitely going to think she was a sex addict.

A smile crept on her face but she couldn’t help it as she strolled down the cold and windy street toward the tube. She almost didn’t mind the cold night air as it had been so stuffy in her office. She would have left her door open but the students were constantly yelling up and down the hallways as they went in and out of lecture halls, labs, and exam rooms.

“Good evening.”

Cathy paused her movements in front of the ATM she was about to use to withdraw cash to pay her rent. She raised a quizzical brow and turned her heard slowly to see a short but lovely woman in a rather expensive looking pea coat. She had incredibly full hair and her makeup made Cathy feel slightly inferior as her own had been rubbed off in frustration while grading exams.

“Hello,” Cathy said slowly and hesitantly, wondering why this woman was standing before her. She glanced to the street and saw a black Jaguar with the darkest windows she had ever seen. She could barely make out the presence of the driver in the front seat. The woman had her hands in her pockets and Cathy tried to casually pocket her card.

“How are you?” the stranger asked. She had a perfectly content smile on her face and it was making the young woman feel uncomfortable. The woman before her appeared to be in her late 30’s or early 40’s. She took in all the details of the woman that she could and slowly took a step back.

“Can I help you?” Cathy asked, still with hesitance clearly recognizable in her voice. The stranger smiled even brighter, “Why, yes, thank you.”

They stood staring at each other and Cathy wondered how far she could get if she turned around and ran as fast as she could. It had been months since she had been to the gym. Preparing for her final examinations had left her with little time to do things like work out or cook food that wasn’t meant to be heated in a microwave.

The woman said nothing else and because of Cathy’s need to not let things go suddenly said, “Well?” She then cursed to herself and decided it was now best to walk, or run, immediately.

“I need you to come with me.”

“Excuse me?” Cathy asked as if the woman had just tried called her stupid. In fact, she felt stupid for not running away. She decided she was going to need to start listening to her brain when it was screaming instructions meant for survival at her. 

“I need you to come with me,” the woman repeated and then sighed, “Please, just make my job easy. I’ve had a nutter of a day.”

Cathy looked the woman over again and say the tired lines in her face but shook her head, “Who are you?”

“Anthea.”

“Ok,” Cathy said slowly, “Anthea. Why do you want me to come with you?”

The woman, supposedly named Anthea, signed again, “That’s classified, I’m afraid.” Cathy nodded nervously and said, “Classified? Right. Who the hell are you and want do you want?”

Cathy looked over to the Jaguar and noticed the driver had quietly opened his door and was slowly slipping out of the driver’s seat. He was moving with stealth like some sort of ninja. He wasn’t necessarily a big man but he was in all black, wearing gloves, and looked rather fit. 

Anthea rolled her eyes, “He said you were intelligent?”

“Who did?” 

“My employer.”

“And that is?”

“Classified.”

“You really need to get lost,” Cathy said, her voice cracking with fear as the driver was slowly approaching her. She began to step back slowly and tried to raise her voice and sound confident, “This isn’t funny.”

“I need you to come with me,” Anthea said again but held a hand up to the driver. He looked at her and stopped his stalking. He glared at Cathy with eyes as black the vehicle behind him. He made her very uncomfortable, which was probably a tame feeling since she was certain he was going to strangle her before the night was over. She considered digging into her bag for her phone but there would be no way for her to find it amongst the heavy books and papers that it was hiding amongst in time to call for help.

She could scream for help but it was not a residential area and it was long after business hours. There was not a soul in sight, something she had been glad about a few minutes prior, as it would mean her tube ride would be relaxing. Now, she was cursing herself for not having a plan for something like this. All those warnings she had heard during her years of studying about traveling in packs and carrying protection and here she was caught without a damn thing to defend herself with.

“Look,” Cathy said, trying to sound as tough as she could, “if you don’t leave I’m going to hurt you.” She realized how pathetic is sounded and felt herself flush in embarrassment when she saw Anthea giggle at her attempts to sound brave. This was different that when she had been scared by John’s PTSD outburst. This was true danger and she didn’t know how she was going to get out of this.

Anthea stopped giggling, “Don’t bother. I don’t want to hurt _you_ nor get in trouble for delivering you damaged.”

“You’re not delivering me anywhere!” Cathy yelled and dropped her bag from her shoulder. She spun around and made to run as hard and fast as she could but immediately collided with a wall. And by wall, it was a large, hard man who had somehow snuck up behind the younger woman. She stumbled back and felt strong arms wrap around her chest, constricting her so hard that she could hardly suck in a breath in order to scream.

“I’m sorry it had to come to this,” Anthea said as a black cloth sack was placed on her head. She tried to scream but gagged as some sort of powder had coated her mouth and throat. She coughed violently, feeling as if she were choking while she felt strong arms wrap around her legs and the two men carried her to the car.

They were not gentle as she was tossed on the padded backseat. Her wrists were bound by zipties before they adjusted her so that she was sitting and then she heard Anthea say, “Relax, I’m with you.” The doors were slammed shut. Cathy could not relax. She struggled against the zipties and tried to break them, recalling videos she had seen on facebook on what to do if you were kidnapped. No matter how hard she tried, the ties only cut into her wrists and would not break.

“Let me go!” Cathy managed to spit out. More powder entered her mouth and she hacked away again, feeling her chest burn and beg for oxygen. The smell of the powder was in her nostrils and she realized, in her oxygen-deprived state, that it was talcum powder. 

It was scary to think how simple items could be used in such a vile way. A hood coated in talcum powder would be her demise. The same thing that mothers used to keep their babies from getting rashes was going to choke her to death. Her lungs were on fire and she felt light headed. She needed moisture in her mouth, anything to counteract the drying effects of the powder.

It was difficult with her body involuntarily coughing against the powder drying out her airway but she sucked a piece of the fabric from the hood and trapped it between her teeth. It took several seconds but her body did what it did naturally and began to produce saliva in an attempt to help her digest the foreign material. Her coughing slowly subsided and as she swallowed her saliva as fast as it was being produced, breathing heavily through her mouth. When she tried to breath through her nostrils the powder caused her to cough again.

It was silent in the car once Cathy had been able to breath again. She made no movements and simply listened to the air passing outside and what sounded like the tapping of fingers on a cellphone. It seemed like the fingers would never rest.

The stop and go of the traffic led Cathy to believe they were heading south. She knew well enough that Bedford Road in Clapham had the worst traffic in the world and with the fact that it was in the evening and they were still in traffic meant they had to be in South London. 

It was easier to think now that she could breath and wondered if it would be possibly to escape. She shifted her body away from Anthea, whom she had knocked into several times but only responded by leaning away. She blindly reached out for a door handle, realizing she was probably being very conspicuous but she didn’t care. She would just need to fall out into the street where there would be witnesses.

“The child-proof locks are on,” Anthea said, sounding slightly amused by her feeble attempt.

Cathy wanted to say something back but the fabric in her mouth was the only thing keeping the talcum powder from choking her. She saved her words for a more opportune time.

It had felt like hours before they escaped the traffic and car moved more easily. When they came to a final stop, she was relieved as she had begun to feel the pressure in her bladder and did not want to have to relieve herself while fully clothed.

“We’re here,” Anthea said as the doors were opened and she pulled out of the car by a strong hand wrapped around her arm. She hissed as the fingers bruised and she forced to her feet. The hood was removed and Cathy found herself looking up into the eyes of one of the scariest men she had ever seen. He was the man she had ran into when she thought about running but she had never had a moment to look at him.

The man was nearly seven feet tall and built like an American footballer. He was almost as wide as he was tall. He had the broadest shoulders she had ever seen and every vein in his face looked ready to pop out. His eyes were dark and scary and even the veins in them looked threatening. She glared at him silently and then looked at his black suit, seeing there was talcum powder on it from the hood. He said nothing but grabbed her bound hands and with his bare fingers, snapped the zip tie as if it were made of tissue. 

“Come along,” Anthea called from the opposite side of the car. With hesitation, Cathy looked away from the man and over to Anthea who was waving her to follow. She said nothing and slipped away from the man. As she walked around the car, she caught a reflection of herself in one of the windows and gasped. Her hair was a rat’s nest and she looked at least two decades older because of the powder. Her clothes were also coated in the white powder as well.

Anthea smiled as if it was not a kidnapping and Cathy scowled. She glanced around and saw they were on a construction site for what looked like a housing complex. Her stomach dropped as she thought of all the possible ways they could dispose of her bodies. Anthea guided her inside the hollow building as she debated whether they would incase her with cement in the foundation or hide her body in the walls, only to be discovered by some chance accident that would cause a hole in the sheetrock and expose her corpse. 

John would probably think she flaked on him, which would really be a shame. She wondered if Sherlock and John were really as good as they said when it came to detective work. She hoped they’d be able to find her. Or her body. If it was her body, she hoped they would avenge her. Not that they knew her well but she hoped that a great shag was enough to convince John to want to solve her murder. She was starting to realize how demented she sounded and shook the thoughts from her head. She needed to focus on the situation at hand and try her absolute best to survive this nightmare.

It looked like what would be the main lobby of the building. The area was open and had holes in the concrete walls for what would eventually be windows. In the center of the large room was a tall, thin man leaning on an umbrella and looking down at this phone as if he were studying an important tome.

“Ah, at last,” the man said, looking up at them as they approached him. His easy going comment left Cathy frowning and she pushed herself away from Anthea and yelled, “What the hell is going on?!” She figured he was the man in charge so he would be the best person to direct her fury at. He didn’t looked amused nor bothered. He was actually as calm as Anthea had been when Cathy had protested her approach.

 

“If you don’t let me leave I’ll scream so loud they’ll hear me in Buckingham Palace,” Cathy threatened and looked at the two professionally dressed people. She realized no one else had come in the room and it was just them. The man sighed and rubbed his temple with the pointer and middle finger of his right hand. She saw a gold ring wink in the light from his ring finger. He closed his eyes, looking rather annoyed and said, “Please don’t scream. I have a migraine and it would hardly be necessary.”

“I won’t let you kill me without a fight,” Cathy said, spreading her stance and positioning herself in what she assumed would be a threatening fighting posture. Neither looked threatened but she refused to back down.

“No one is trying to kill you, Miss Moyle,” the man stated and lowered his hand. He turned his nose up at her and looked down at her short frame. She looked over his tall and lean body. He hair was grey and he wore an archaic three-peace suit, had a gold chain dangling from his pocket, and had what looked like a very expensive umbrella that was sharp enough to impale an opponent. A quick glance around the room left showed no abandoned tools or materials for her to use for defense.

Cathy scoffed, “Then why did you kidnap me?”

“This is not a kidnapping, I can assure you that,” the man said, still looking down on her. She looked him over again and felt like he was oddly familiar. She couldn’t put her finger on it. She didn’t remember ever seeing him in the hospital.

The man looked to Anthea, “May be have some privacy?” She nodded and then looked to Cathy, “I’ll see you later.” She glared at Anthea as she nearly skipped away and then back to the strange man. There was at least twenty feet between them and she tightened her fists as he slowly stepped closer, closing the gap. Cathy studied him as he came closer and was able to see his details more distinctly. 

“That’s close enough,” Cathy said when there was still a five-foot space between them. To her surprise, he obliged.

“I’ll start with an apology for the misunderstanding but it was urgent I speak with you,” he stated calmly, which upset Cathy more. She stared at him with daggers for eyes, “Who the hell are you?”

“That’s unimportant.”

“I beg to differ,” Cathy shot back. He ignored her, “You have begun sharing relations with a Dr. John H. Watson, are you not?” 

John? She had no idea what this had to do with him but she could help but be her snarky self, “You mean, am I shagging him?” The question seemed to work in causing the man to falter. She smirked, “And I hardly see how it concerns you if I am.”

The man recouped, “It concerns me quite directly.”

“Unless you’re also shagging him, I don’t see how it matters to you,” Cathy replied, never breaking her glare at him. He sighed, “You’re quite aggressive.”

“You have seen aggressive yet, ” Cathy growled and clenched her jaw. She could feel his eyes work over her and he did not appear threatened by her at all. She still held her defensive stance.

“If you value all the hard work you’ve done to become a doctor, I suggest you calm yourself and consider what I’m about to ask of you,” he said slowly.

Cathy shifted her legs so that she could stand taller and an offended look replaced her face, “You did not just tell me to calm-” She stopped midsentence and squinted at the man, “Wait a second…”

The man gave her a questioning look and his posture dropped slightly. He looked slightly uncomfortable with the way the young woman was staring at him. Suddenly, her jaw dropped and she gasped, “I know who you are.”

“I doubt that,” he said too quickly, he seemed to fidget but only just slightly. To most, he would still look calm and collected but Cathy had been staring at him enough to know she found a tiny fissure in his defense.

“You have Sherlock’s eyes,” Cathy said, almost in awe, “What are you? His brother?” There was no response from the older man and she pried further, “You are, aren’t you? I can see the vein in your temple pulsing. You’re annoyed that I’m right.”

With a very annoyed sigh, he answered, “I am Sherlock’s brother, yes.”

“Wait until I tell him what you’ve done. Is there a mommy Holmes to tell on you to?” She jabbed at him with a tone that sounded like a child ready to tattle on their playmate. She was grinning as she finally felt like she had gotten the upper hand in the situation.

“You’re testing my patience,” the Holmes brother groaned.

“Sorry that I’m not a delight,” Cathy replied sarcastically, “I only had to sit through Clapham junction traffic with a hood covered in talcum powder. I don’t think you’d enjoy it either.”

The man looked at her curiously, not looking as annoyed and asked, “How do you know you were on Clapham?”

“The traffic pattern,” Cathy replied as if it were obvious to anyone in a hood to figure out.

“Impressive.”

“Not as impressive as you being able to kidnap someone on a man road.”

“We’re getting off topic,” he stated. Cathy rolled her eyes, “That’s the only topic I’m concerned with.”

The man sighed with more annoyance than before, “I’m aware, but I have a proposition for you and I don’t plan to stay in this shoddily constructed building more than I need to.”

Cathy looked the man over again and asked, “What’s your name?” She expected him to ignore the question but he simply blinked at her for a few moments before responding, “Mycroft.” She nodded, “Thank you.”

“You’re welcome.”

“Ok, Mycroft. What do you want?”

“It’s not what I want, though the arrangement would benefit me greatly,” Mycroft said, leaving the younger woman confused but he continued, “Sherlock advised me to offer you a job.”

“And what exactly is it that you do?” Cathy asked, her mind spinning with a million questions as to why she was brought here to talk to Sherlock’s brother and why did he arrange this meeting. She felt almost dizzy and her chest still burned from the effects of the powder but she managed to stay composed and listened to Mycroft, “I have a minor position with the British government and I believe your services would be quite beneficial in my department.”

Cathy chuckled, “As you know, I’m studying to be a doctor, not a politician.”

“We have uses for doctors.”

“What kind of uses?”

“A variety.”

“There are plenty of other doctors to kidnap and offer jobs to. Why did Sherlock recommend me to you?” Cathy asked hesitantly, still trying to make sense of it all. She was almost sure she wasn’t about to be murdered so she felt a bit better about the entire crazy situation.

“What I’m about to ask you is not something I take likely,” Mycroft said, stepping closer to the shorter girl. He was a step away from her before he looked down into her eyes, “Deduce me.”

“What?” Cathy said in mild horror. She had had enough of that deduction nonsense earlier in the week at Baker Street. She couldn’t believe the craziness of it was still following her around. 

Mycroft did not look amused, “I said deduce me. Or _read me_ as my brother said you like to call it.”

“This is ridiculous,” Cathy cried out, “I think I’m ready to leave now.” She made a move to step away but Mycroft shot a hand out and grabbed her arm. She winced as his fingers curled into the same spot that previous man had grabbed her arm when pulling her from the car. She was going to have some questionable bruises in the morning.

Mycroft lowered his head so that his face was inches from her own, “Deduce me.” His warm breath washed over her face and she felt her heart pounding as she looked into his cold eyes. They were so much like her brother’s but much less hospitable. Compared to Mycroft, Sherlock had been a sweetheart. 

With a gulp, Cathy nodded. She did not break the glaring between them, “You’re dieting.”

A barely noticeable blush crept across Mycroft’s aged face. It seemed to strike something in him because he released Cathy’s arm and stood up straight, looking down at her again and ordered her, “Explain.”

“Your breath.”

“Elaborate.”

Cathy blinked up at him, ground her teeth for a moment and did as he ordered, “Ketones. You’re on a low carbohydrate diet. Your body is breaking down fat as an energy source, releasing ketones in your breath and urine, causing a sickly sweet smell.” She paused, “And no, I don’t want to smell your urine to confirm that.”

“That’s why we need more doctors,” Mycroft said pointedly. Cathy rolled her eyes, “That’s dieting 101. It’s hardly advanced knowledge!”

“You have a gift,” Mycroft said, taking a step back, “and you refuse to acknowledge it. Why is that?”

Cathy glared in response and tried to make sense of everything in her mind. She felt overloaded and just wanted to be home and in her bed but instead she was in south London with this odd man. She groaned with exhaustion, “I’m just being me. Why are you making this a bigger deal than it needs to be? I’ve been like this my whole life and I’m no better or worse than anyone else.”

Mycroft finally looked away from Cathy and pulled his phone from his pocket to respond to a text that had just come in, “You’ve been surrounded by the wrong people and I highly suspect Dr. Stamford was aware and put in Dr. Watson’s path for a reason.”

“You mean,” Cathy began to say, trying to work out the logic, “he set me up to be kidnapped and not on a date with an old friend? Sounds like Mike to me.”

“This is not a kidnapping,” Mycroft said, annoyed once more. 

“Imagine how I feel.”

Mycroft pocketed his phone, “You have a choice, Miss Moyle. Accept a position with me once you’ve completed your final examinations or I’ll have to insist you stay away Dr. Watson and Sherlock Holmes.”

“What kind of choice is that?” Cathy asked in disbelief. She didn’t know John enough to be heartbroken if they never saw each other again but she had good feelings about him. She was not going to let this odd man meddle with anything in her life.

“One that offers you the most profit should you choose wisely.”

“Profit?” 

Mycroft smirked; she knew he felt smug that she would fall prey to the allure of money but she had debts to pay and doctors were not paid very handsomely through the NHS. 

“Expect an annual seven-figure sum. Tax-free and legal.”

“Doing what, exactly?” Cathy asked hesitantly. She did not feel comfortable blindly accepting a job from a man who claimed to have a minor government position but could over her a million-pound job. 

“That depends.”

“Oh what?”

“What you’re capable of.”

“Mycroft,” Cathy groaned, “I’m really not special. I’m a huge pain in the ass.”

“Trust me,” Mycroft shot back, “I noticed.” 

The two stared at each other and then smiled though her smile was wider than his. He went on, “I have unique needs and I think you’ll do nicely.” There was a long silence and as Cathy processed the words, she shivered. He looked like the kind of man who always got what he wanted. He seemed cold and ruthless but that smile made her consider a softer side was hiding in there. She wondered if she could see more of it.

Finally, she asked, “Can I get more details?”

“No.”

“Can I at least have time to think it over?” She requested and he nodded, “your examinations are in two months. I would need you to complete your studies before I could use your services.”

Cathy nodded, “Thank you. I just have one more question.”

“Yes?”

“If I refuse, how do I know you won’t kill me?”

Mycroft smirked, “I _personally_ would not kill you. I don’t like to get my hands dirty unless absolutely necessary.”

“Ass,” Cathy said rudely and glared at him. He ignored her comment, “I request you keep the details of today’s meeting confidential. My brother has involved himself enough.”

“Not a chance,” Cathy informed him quickly. She had every intention to talk this over with John as he would know more about Mycroft and the work that he was involved. She wondered if she could report the events to Scotland Yard and have Mycroft booked for kidnapping. 

“I own Scotland Yarn,” Mycroft said, “If you think there’s a power you can report me to, you’ll find there are none that I’m beneath.”

Cathy frowned and replied without a thought, “Your sex life must be boring then.” She cringed and felt her face burn red but said nothing else. She could see the vein in Mycroft’s temple pulsing again, “I don’t think that’s any of your concern.”

“Then stop meddling with _my_ affairs!” she exclaimed. Mycroft rubbed his temple, “I think that’s enough for tonight.”

“I agree!”

“Anthea will return you to 221B Baker Street as it seems you’ll want to debrief Dr. Watson on tonight’s events.”

Cathy rolled her eyes, “You know, you’re really creepy.”

Once again, Mycroft ignored her comment, “Yes, that will be all.”


	3. Chapter 3

“Why didn’t you call me when you were trying to be persuaded to get into a stranger’s vehicle?!” John yelled at Cathy as she sat on the same couch that he had taken her on four days prior. She had just gotten out of the shower and was settled comfortably with John’s shower robe and a cup of piping hot tea.

Mrs. Hudson had screamed an hour earlier when the young woman appeared on her doorstep after having been rudely deposited on the sidewalk by Mycroft’s brutish assistants. Anthea had sat next to her the entire ride and had not said a word to her nor apologized. She just tapped away on her phone. 

Cathy felt terrible that she had woken up the elderly landlady. She was at least in her eighties and clearly had a bad hip. When John saw her standing at the bottom of the stairs looking like she had just been coated like a pastry in confectionary sugar, he wasn’t sure if it was a joke or something was seriously wrong.

Despite it all, Cathy felt like she was handling it well. John had escorted her to the bathroom so she could shower. Alone. He did not make her speak about the evening’s events until she was wrapped up in his robe and seated on the couch. She began explaining everything, including the near asphyxiation from the talcum powder.

“I would have called but I was overpowered,” Cathy explained. She could sense that John knew all about Mycroft and his ways but apparently the talcum powder was a new trick.

“That was my idea,” Sherlock said smugly as he popped out of his room, “Though I did not expect he’d use it on you. My apologies.” John and Cathy both glared at the consulting detective as he smiled to himself that there was tea already prepared.

“Anyways,” John said, trying to ignore his flatmate, “I’m just glad your safe. You don’t want to mess around with Mycroft. He’s dangerous.”

“As dangerous as a kitten,” Sherlock laughed. John glared at him again, “Unless you have something useful to say, shut it, Sherlock.”

“Actually,” Cathy said timidly, “Sherlock has something to do with this.” She had only been able to explain up to the part where was kidnapped by Anthea and that Mycroft was asking about their connection.

Sherlock, who had just poured his tea and was ready to take sip, stopped his movements. He realized that John looked ready to attack him and slowly lowered his tea down and cautiously said, “I can explain.”

“You’d better,” John growled.

“I may or may not have told Mycroft that Catherine was like us and that she could use a job after graduation.”

“You what?!”

“John,” Cathy tried to say calmly, “relax.” She put her tea down on the end table and stood up to reach out to the angry man. She put a hand on his shoulder but he pulled away roughly, “You have no idea what this can mean for you.”

“Relax, John,” Sherlock added, “she’ll find no better offer of employment than what Mycroft will offer her.”

John shook his head violently, “After all these years and all the shit that Mycroft has pulled, you trust him now?”

Sherlock paused and looked as if he was actually thinking about it but his face dropped in a look showing he wasn’t amused, “No.”

“Well, then!” John yelled, throwing his hands up in frustration. He turned and looked back to Cathy, “He could have killed you and you’re acting like it’s no big deal!”

“Stop yelling, John,” Cathy said softly, she was beginning to get a headache from the events and the loud voices. The adrenaline from the evening was starting to wear off and all she wanted was to go to bed. There was something about a hot shower that always took the edge off and made her sleepy. There were many sleepless nights that she had gotten up at odd hours for a scalding hot shower that helped her sleep as soon as her head hit the pillow.

“You are _not_ accepting his offer,” John threatened her, pointing a finger at her. It was almost like the other day all over again

“Excuse me?!” Cathy shrieked, “Who the hell do you think you are? You’re not my father and you sure as hell are not my boyfriend!”

John stuttered for a moment, realizing how aggressive he was sounding but then shook his head, “It’s non-negotiable.”

Cathy laughed sarcastically, “Non-negotiable?” He tried to stand his ground, “Right.” He crossed his arms across his chest and she glared at him, “I’m sorry but I don’t know you well enough to be told what to do. At least outside of the bedroom.” She began to stomp towards the door but Sherlock cleared his throat, catching her attention.

“It’s rather cold outside, perhaps you should consider putting on clothes?” Sherlock suggested, eyeing the dark gray robe that she was still wearing. John had put her clothes in the wash while she showered and they were nowhere near dry. She ground her molars, ignored the men and stomped her way up the stairs to John’s room. She decided she could just take a set of clothes and if she felt nice enough, she might send them back to him.

There was not much in John’s room and when she opened his drawers, she saw that he did not have many outfits, which left her hesitant about taking his clothes. She opened and closed the drawers, hoping to find a pair of sweatpants with a string that she could at least tighten so she could leave without freezing or flashing strangers. 

She had just opened one of the top drawers of the dresser and paused. There was a handgun, some jewelry, and paperwork. On the very top of the pile of papers, underneath the gun, she saw a birth certificate. She slipped the paper out from underneath the gun with care and read the details. It was for John’s daughter, Elizabeth Marie Watson. She glanced down and saw the paper that had been underneath the birth certificate. It was a death certificate. She pulled it out and fought back a sob as she read the name, Elizabeth Marie Watson. The cause of death was nuchal cord. She had strangled by her own umbilical cord. 

Cathy went to put the papers back when she saw another death certificate. She made out the name of Mary Amelia Watson. 

“You were right the other day, about how they died.”

John’s voice startled her and dropped the papers back in the drawer and pushed it closed. She turned around and pressed her back into the drawer but could not bring her eyes to meet John’s.

“I’m sorry,” Cathy whispered and held her breath as she looked down at John’s slowly approaching feet. She bit her lip and cringed at the feel of a rogue tear that escaped the corner of her eye and ran down her full cheek. John reached out and she flinched, afraid of what kind of touch he would provide. She sighed when she felt his rough thumb gently brush the tear away.

“I can’t seem to do anything right, can I?” John asked. He sounded so lost and scared, not angry as she expected him to be. She raised her eyes slowly and met his and saw they were soft and kind, the way she liked them. He gave her the saddest smile she had ever seen and felt her heart break for him. 

Cathy’s chin began to quiver as she fought back more tears and was relieved when John lurched forward and pulled her into a tight hug. It made her chest hurt from when Mycroft’s man had bear hugged her into submission but she said nothing and hug John back as tight as she could.

The pair swayed back and forth for several minutes, not saying a word as they remained locked in the embrace. John was the one to pull away first but he did not let her go, “I’m glad you’re ok.”

“Yeah?” Cathy replied playfully and raised an eyebrow, “Would have missed me already?” 

John recognized the teasing in her tone and smiled shyly, “Maybe I would have. So what?” In the past hour, John knew that it was so much more than _so what?_ Maybe he was selfish but he remembered laying in his bed with her, talking about anything that would come to mind. They didn’t always agree on certain topics but they had a mutual respect and he had held onto every word that had escaped her lips as well as every kiss. He didn't want to let her go. Maybe he was just lonely. Either way, this gorgeous and intelligent woman was in his arms and he enjoyed it very much.

“What are we doing?” Cathy asked resignedly, as she stroked his hairline, brushing the short hairs on his forehead back. It felt amazing and he closed his eyes contently for a moment before releasing a calm sigh. She smiled, her full cheeks causing her eyes to crinkle and leaned back into him. Her soft lips ghosted over his as she whispered, “I want you.”

John’s eyes shot open in surprise. He had not been trying to entice her into anything sexual as he was worried about her recovery from the evening. He raised a hand to tangle in her damp locks and sighed, “Are you sure?”

Cathy looked into his grey eyes and took a deep breath, inhaling his scent that seemed to drive her wild. If they could bottle his scent, she would put a drop of it on her pillow every night and sleep like a baby. He smelled of soap, sandalwood, and just a touch of sweat. Her arms dropped to encircle his trim waist. She was impressed that he kept so fit at his age. He wasn’t overly muscular but he was solid and strong. She leaned in once more with the intent to kiss him but he pulled back and turned his head so that her lips brushed against his cheek.

“This isn’t just sex for me,” he confessed. He stepped back enough to escape her arms and went over to his bed and sat down. His back was perfectly straight and he looked rather tense compared to a moment before in their embrace. He was looking at her knees, barely visible between the gap of the robe. He laughed to himself, he thought her knees were just as perfect as the rest of her. He wanted to be between them more than anything in that moment but he needed to protect himself. This could not go further without guidelines. 

“What do you want this to be?” Cathy asked, pulling the robe closed and leaning back into the dresser she had been prying in minutes earlier. She looked sad and it made John feel terrible that he was making her frown again.

John tried to think of the best words to describe what he wanted. He realized that this was only their second meeting and that they were beyond the normal problems most people came across while dating. Could he ask her to be his companion so soon? Should he just accept the sex and figure it out later? He didn’t know how to navigate these foreign waters so he responded, “I might want more than you so I need you to help me.” He felt it was best to be honest.

Cathy studied him for a moment and considered her options. He was a handsome man and an amazing lover but he was damaged and she was ok with that. He would take anything that she would give him but she did not want to damage him further. She wasn’t against being monogamous but she also wasn’t ready to be tied down in a serious relationship. She also worried that John would not see her as an equal partner but try to control her as he had tried downstairs. He could not be led to believe he could make decisions about her life.

The silence was too much and John was beginning to feel uncomfortable. He stood up again, “I’m sorry, I’m a mess and you don’t need to do deal with this. With me.”

“No, I don’t,” Cathy said, staring expressionless at him. She pushed off the dresser again and stalked toward John. He immediately regretted saying anything. When she stood before him, he was surprised that she was untying the sash keeping the robe closed.

“I didn’t say I need you, I said I want you,” Cathy plainly explained and let the robe fall open. He sighed with relief and reached out for her, slipping his hands on her shoulders to pull the robe off her body before pulling her against him and crashing his mouth onto hers.

John’s strong hands ran over her body as their tongues battled for dominance. He could feel her fumble with the string keeping his pajama bottoms on. He was glad he was not wearing trousers and that she had arrived in the middle of the night. She kneeled down, kissing his thighs as she helped him step out of his pants. He pulled his own t-shirt off and grabbed her arm to pull her up, causing her to hiss.

“Are you ok?” John asked, suddenly distracted by her discomfort. She stood and he examined her arm. He could see bruises that mimicked large hands. “Did this happen tonight?” he asked, almost demanding information. She brushed his hand away, “It’s fine. I’m fine.”

“I’m going to kill Mycroft,” John growled but Cathy cradled his head in her soft hands and directed his gaze to her own eyes, “I’m fine.” She leaned in and kissed him softly, bringing him back to their previous intentions. She pressed her naked form against, him, feeling his erection on her leg and smiled into the kiss.

John groaned at the friction of her soft skin on his erection and was beginning to grab her hips when he felt her hands drop to his chest and push him back on the bed. He fell on his unmade bed, arms out and watched with heavy lids as his own naked goddess began to drape her body over his. She straddled his waist, sitting high enough that he couldn’t just slip into her. It was all he could think about.

Cathy leaned down and rested her elbows by his head and brought her face closer to his and whispered, “You’re a man who likes control.” Her pupils were blown out, making them look darker than ever and her cheeks were glowing red. Her lips were swollen and wet and he whined when she denied him as he tried to raise his head to kiss them. She sat up and braced her weight on her hands but pinning his arms down in the process and smiled, “You don’t get to tell me what to do. If you want this… us to continue, I need to you to tell me you understand.”

Perhaps it was cruel that she was using sex to teach John a lesson but the fire in his eyes was making her melt and she loved the feeling of being on top of him. She didn’t want to dominate John. She wanted to be equal and she felt like she truly had his attention. It also didn’t hurt that the taunting was making his erection, which was pressing deliciously on her thigh, even harder and causing him to leak with pre-cum. She wanted to taste him but she needed to make her point.

“I understand,” John gasped, “I understand!”

Cathy smiled and began to release her hold on John’s arms but he was quicker than her and grabbed her hips. He flipped them over so that he was on top of her, her legs quickly wrapped around his. Before her eyes could even focus on his face, he had begun kissing her furiously. She clutched at his back as he entered her with a perfectly angled thrust. She cried out against his lips and dug her nails into his flesh as his hips thrust into her relentlessly.

“You don’t know how bad I’ve wanted you,” John managed to say out between thrusts and gasps for air. He used one arm to hold himself up and let the other roam her body. He palmed her heaving breasts as she groaned at the feel of his warm hands on her body. She ran her hands down to dig her fingers into the cheeks of his firm arse and pulled him deeper with every thrust.

The noises they were making we almost animalistic. Sweat had begun to drip off the doctor’s nose on Cathy’s collarbone but she didn’t care. He angled his hips slightly to the side, causing another cry to escape from the younger woman. She released her hold on John to grab her own breasts, pinching and pulling at her nipples. He growled and smacked one of her hands away, dipping his head down to capture the hard bud between his teeth. The sudden and aggressive manipulation on her nipple forced a pleasured gasp and with several loud moans and her own upward thrusting into John’s unwavering hips, she came with a string of swear words falling from her kiss bruised lips.

“I’m not done with you yet,” John growled as he dropped his head besides hers while residing in her hot and slick body. He could feel her spasm around his length. It felt so good but he had not waited several days for it to be over so soon. He bit at her earlobe and licked down her neck before nibbling and sucking along her collarbone. Cathy could not even form words. Her orgasm had snuck up on her, something that had never happened before. There was something about John’s movements that caused him to grind deliciously on her clit. It was a nice change to not worry about whether or not she would enjoy herself.

As much as he didn’t want to, John pulled himself away from the soft body beneath him. The loss of contact was displeasing to them both but he made up for it by taking her left nipple in his mouth and treated it to what her other nipple had received only moments ago. He pinched the other between his fingers and rubbed his thigh between her legs, feeling how wet and messy she was. It only fueled his fire further.

“Oh, god, please” Cathy moaned, tangling her fingers in John’s grey locks and tried to urge his head down. He nipped sharply at her nipple and she cried out in both pain and pleasure. He twisted the other harshly before raising his head. Their eyes met like a car crash and John reached out to capture her chin roughly, “In my bed, I’m in control.”

It was against Cathy’s nature to be able to relinquish control so easily but she found herself silently nodding. He leaned forward and crushed his lips against hers, his tongue forcing it’s way into her mouth but she accepted him while lifting a leg and draping it on the back of his legs. He abruptly broke the kiss and pushed her shoulders down as she had been raising her head to meet his needy kisses. He leaned back on his haunches and looked over the heaving and panting woman, running an outspread hand down her elegant neck. It ran over her prominent collarbones, pressing his middle finger over her sternum before rubbing his palm over her breasts, catching the nipples on the patterns of his skin before running it down to her stomach and hips. 

John’s erection was pressed against her inner thigh and she was almost tempted to do a little maneuvering to take him back in her. He wasn’t particularly long but he was gloriously thick, providing all stimulation in all the right places without causing the uncomfortable pressure from being too deep to be pleasurable. It made her jaw hurt when she had taken him in her mouth the other day but the noises he made had been worth it. She wondered if she could snake her body away from him to have a taste of their combined juices.

As she was considering how to be naughty and go against his declaration of control, his thumb caught her clit and rubbed it in slow, languid circles. Her head tilted back as she groaned, still sensitive from her orgasm but he didn’t care. 

John shuffled his body back, not stopping the movements of his thumb against her bundle of nerves and lowered her head down so that he could places kissed beneath her breasts. He sucked and kissed his way down her stomach, adorning the smooth, pale skin with the faintest hickies. He was marking his territory. He stopped his ministrations on her clit, and heard her gasp in disappointment as well as relief. He knew she was hypersensitive and smiled as he bit the skin near over her right hipbone, causing another gasp. 

“You’re going to cum in my mouth,” John said with a deep voice. Cathy raised her head to meet his stare as he looked up at her body. His mouth was inches from her wet sex. He kissed her on her mons, “Twice.” Cathy could only nod and then throw her head back when his tongue circled around her clitoris. Her hands fell to his sheets and she clutched them for dear life.

John spoke between strokes, licks, bites, and sucks. They had not spoken much the last time but his words carried her over edge as he said things like, “I love your cunt. It’s so tight and sweet. I could be inside you all day,” or “Don’t think this is over once you cum. I still have plans for you,” or even, “I can’t wait to be inside you again. I’ve been dreaming of coming inside of you again for days.” Everything made her impossibly wetter and he lapped it up like it was life-giving sustenance. 

John pushed Cathy through three orgasms despite his previous statement but she couldn’t even find the words to protest. Her body was spent but she also wanted to make sure John finished as well. He cock was still incredibly hard after all that time and she waited for John to instruct her on how he wanted her.

He wiped the juices from his face and looked up at the younger woman. She was absolutely flushed and out of breath. He smiled, “You’re so beautiful, I can’t get over it.” Her eyes met his for the first time since his head had been between her legs and smiled shyly. Despite everything, she could always be made to feel shy when she received a compliment. 

Cathy blinked up at him a few times before running her hands over her neck and shoulders, “Get over here.” Without hesitation, John covered her body with his own and kissed the dark haired beauty, letting her taste her juices on his tongue. She moaned and wrapped her arms around his waist. She was incredibly sensitive but she wanted to please John as much as he had pleased her so she used the remaining energy she had to shift her hips and roll over, pinning John underneath her.

“I thought I said I was in con-” John started but grunted, forgetting his words as she reached back and guided his length in her hot, slick canal. She groaned at the fullness he provided her and smiled to herself. She looked down at John and braced her self on his shoulders as she began to rock her hips against his. She felt pleased as he threw his head back, eyes closed, and moaned obscenities.

Despite not being able to open his eyes, John managed to reach out and find her clit with his thumb and rubbed it in time with their movements. He pushed his own hips up to crash into hers, increasing the pleasure they both felt. There was a thin layer of perspiration on her breasts and the way the dim lights of his room caught her skin caused her to glow. She was a goddess and she wanted him and that thought alone excited John enough that he felt the pull in stomach. He quickly sat up, catching Cathy by wrapping his around her so that he stayed inside her and held her tightly to him. Her hot breath hit his ear before her lips down and she whispered, “Come inside me, John.”

And he did.


	4. Chapter 4

Normally, Cathy would get up to clean herself but they had fallen back on the bed, too spent to move. John still looked out of place on her violet sheets despite spending most nights on them. As always, their limbs were a tangled mess. She wasn’t sure where she ended and John began but she didn’t mind it at all. Their faces were close, breathing each other’s air as the sweat on their brows began to evaporate. 

It didn’t take long for John to fall asleep. He had come over after an incredibly long day of running through West London with Sherlock as they tried to catch a carrier pigeon with messages between members of an elite drug network. Several of their members had turned up mysteriously murdered in Wimbledon with no signs of trauma or poison. Sherlock suspected they had been guinea pigs for a new drug expected to hit the streets that would not be traceable in any type of conventional test. With Sherlock’s skills, they were able to catch the bird as well as crack the code. They stood by while Detective Inspector Lestrade’s men ransacked the drug den.

John had hoped for a relaxing evening at home but Sherlock had begun a rather atrocious experiment weeks ago to determine the decomposition rate of flesh when introduced to different types of natural embalming techniques under varying temperatures. For weeks, the flat smelt of death and Cathy had surprisingly accommodated him despite her declarations earlier on that she wasn’t sure how serious they would be.

Two months had gone by since their first meeting and Cathy had yet to declare aloud her attachment to the slumbering man in her arms. She sighed contently as she looked over his relaxed features. She wanted to run her fingers over and smooth all the creases in his face, not because she was bothered by the signs of aging but because she knew many of them were formed by stress. He seemed to be at ease with her and Mrs. Hudson confirmed the observation one evening. She had arrived to the flat in Baker Street to drop off clothes that John had left at her flat and was greeted by the elderly but lively landlady. She ushered the younger woman inside, sat her down for tea, and confessed that she had reservations about the age difference but that she had never seen John happier in all the time that she had known him. The declaration made her slightly apprehensive as she imagined that John had to have been happy with his wife at some point, even if they did have a rocky relationship. She knew better than to ask about it.

After several minutes of laying there, John grunted in his sleep, pulled his arms away, and rolled over so that his back faced Cathy. She smiled, happy to see that he was actually sleeping. Once the drama from their first date and Mycroft’s job interview had passed and they had spent calmer nights together, she found John had a hard time sleeping soundly unless he was at the brink of total exhaustion. Their sex life was plentiful and sometimes it helped John sleep better but it made her heart ache when he tossed and turned, sweat forming over his body as he cried out in distress. She had found out the hard way not to wake him from his nightmares. 

One night he had been screaming words that Cathy couldn’t quite understand except, “Kill me now, please!” He screamed it over and over and over again. She put gentle hands on his shoulders and tried to say his name calmly to wake him up. He eyes opened so quickly that it startled her. Before she could think of what to say, he launched at her, wrapping his hands around her throat tightly. She clawed at his arms and thankfully it had only taken a few moments for John to stop. He blinked at her as if nothing had happened, released his grip, and went back to sleep. He had no recollection of the event in the morning and Cathy had never brought it up.

Gentle snores broke the silence in her small bedroom and she took that as the sign that she could quietly slip out of the bed, making sure not to disturb John. She picked her dressing gown from the floor, which was covered with textbooks and clothes. She looked over the sleeping man as she tied the sash around her waist and then slipped into the small bathroom. She gently closed the door and leaned against it, taking a moment to collect herself.

Having John around had its perks. She enjoyed the company, she liked that he brought her groceries, and she definitely appreciated the sex. They seemed to compliment each other well enough but she was beginning to feel just a little suffocated. Sometimes she felt like John acted more like a father, trying to steer her into a direction he felt would suit her when she had mentioned what her plans were. She wanted to travel for a few years and provide medical care to refugees or other impoverished people who needed a doctor. John said he knew Dr. Stamford was going to be offering her a position at St. Bart’s and that she’d be stupid not to take it.

Perhaps, after she had her fill of the world, Cathy would want to settle down at St. Bart’s. She would have a predictable life and she would be able to earn enough to move out of the closet-sized flat she was condemned to until she was earning a real income. She could have lunch with Dr. Hooper, the quirky spinster who worked in the morgue that provided the students with their cadavers for the anatomy classes. She would have a steady schedule, have her entire commute orchestrated to the minute, and then eventually die of boredom. 

But then again, there was Mycroft Holmes and his offer and it was immediate. She wouldn’t have to apply for several years to get approved into a program that would allow her to travel. She had no idea what they actually wanted her to do but whenever she took the time to consider it, the mystery seemed to lure her in further and further. John had clearly expressed his sentiments about the offer and they had only discussed it twice. He had said that if she agreed to work for Mycroft that they would be over.

Maybe it was because John had become so familiar and ingrained into her life so quickly that the thought of losing him scared her. It was the same reason he made her hesitant. She knew the most logical thing to do about their relationship was to wait it out. If it felt things moved any faster than they already were, she’d pull the rip chord and bring it to a halt. She was still young, as John constantly reminded her, and she could enjoy what they had until it wasn’t enjoyable. Perhaps it was cruel to harbor intentions of not considering a partner as someone you would want to settle down with and marry but the times were changing. Serial monogamy was practically the way of life. Marriages never lasted and hearts were broken and mended daily. 

Cathy shook the thoughts from her head and went about cleaning herself. She took a quick shower, enjoying the feel of the warm water on her back. She smiled as she thought of the kisses that John had placed over her back when she had been undressing. He had pressed his erection against her bottom but only so he could be close enough to her to worship her body. 

One of the things that had set John apart from any mans he had ever been with had been how he made her feel. There were plenty of times they were ripping each other’s clothes off but he often went out of his way to show his appreciation for every inch of flesh he could get to.

After stepping out of the shower, Cathy wrapped a towel around her body and looked at herself in the mirror. It had begun to fog up from the warm moisture from the shower. She could see her tired features despite the less than clear reflection and sighed. She couldn’t wait until her studies were over. She was trying so hard to have a social life, including her time with John, while balancing schoolwork and her position as an assistant for Dr. Stamford. The past few years seemed like it went by in a flash but at the time it always felt never ending and sometimes tortuous. It was all almost over and she could hardly believe it.

A buzzing sound barely echoed into the bathroom and Cathy turned to the door back into her bedroom. She quickly and quietly went back into the room and snatched her vibrating phone from her nightstand. John did not stir even slightly and she was relieved. Without looking at the number, she answered the phone was tip-toeing out of her bedroom and into the small living room. She closed the door behind her gently and threw herself on her worn down loveseat. 

“Hello?” Cathy whispered, adjusting the towel to cover her damp skin as the night-time air felt like ice.

“Why isn’t John answering his phone?”

It was Sherlock.

“How did you get my number?” Cathy hissed as his rude voice assaulted her ears. She had quickly discovered that Sherlock was an intrusive and selfish man who had ruined many dates for her and John. She should have figured that it would only be time before he had her contact information. 

“Unimportant. Where’s John? I need him,” Sherlock said straight-forwardly. The young woman rolled her eyes, “It’s almost three in the bloody morning. Where do you think he is?”

Sherlock sighed, “I need him at Baker Street, immediately.”

“He’s having a much needed rest and I’m not waking him up. It can wait until a decent hour,” she scolded him. She could tell by his breathing he was incredibly irritated but she asked, “Is it a case?”

“Why else would I need John?” Sherlock huffed. Cathy rolled her eyes, “To make your tea? It wouldn’t be the first lame excuse you’ve called him home for.” 

Sherlock retorted, “At least you’re aware that Baker Street is his home and not your den of assignation.”

“Is that your polite way of calling my flat a brothel?” Cathy laughed at the absurdity of the accusation Sherlock was making and how he tried to find any way that he could to get under her skin. He constantly claimed to find her intelligent and bright but for some reason could never respect her during their interactions.

Cathy sighed, “Look, I’ll send John home when he wakes up.” She then quickly added, “Whenever that may be. I won’t be waking him, do you understand?”

“I need a doctor.”

“What?” Cathy asked, her heart feeling like it stopped. She heard Sherlock groan, “I need a doctor so if you won’t wake up John than I’d rather you come instead.”

“What's wrong?” Cathy asked, immediately getting up from the couch. She looked around the dark living room and made a beeline for the full laundry basket she had forgotten to put away earlier in the day.

Sherlock grunted, “I may have miscalculated the depth of a pond and will need stitches.”

“Why didn’t you say so in the first place?!” Cathy exclaimed as quietly but effectively as she could while pulling on a pair of jeans. Her phone was pinched between her ear and shoulder. She heard Sherlock sigh in annoyance, “What does it matter now?”

Cathy rolled her eyes as she buttoned the jeans and asked, “Do you need me to bring anything?”

“Morphine.”

“Sherlock, I don’t-” she began, trying to tell him she wasn’t in the habit of keeping morphine in her bathroom cabinet but the line went dead. She rolled her eyes again and slipped the phone in her back pocket before finding a shirt in the basket and pulling it on. She did not bother with pants or a bra as it was only Sherlock so there was no one to impress.

Cathy popped her head back into her room and saw John was still in a deep slumber. She smiled weakly and turned the light off, leaving the older man to sleep in the quiet room. She slipped on her shoes, buttoned up her coat, grabbed her wallet and keys and was out in the frigid night. She began to walk the four blocks it would take to get to the bus stop as it was too late for the tube to be running and she didn’t have the money to call for a cab.

The young woman cursed to herself and wished she had remembered to put on a hat as the cold air was freezing her wet hair and her head felt almost painfully cold. She kept her hands burrowed in her pockets and carried herself further, not wanting to waste time going back for a hat in case Sherlock was really as desperate for a doctor as he claimed.

With one more block to go, Cathy looked to her side and saw headlights on the quiet road. The streets were empty and she hadn’t seen a car or cab pass by at all. She slowed her pace and turned her head, cringing at the bright assault on her eyes that were adjusted to the dim streetlights.

The car stopped and Cathy took a few steps back to get further from the curb and began to briskly walk to the bus stop. Before she had even walked a dozen steps she heard her name being called.

“Ms. Moyle, I have no intention of harming you.”

Cathy froze and turned around just as the lights on the car were dimmed. She could make out the black car as one similar to the one she had been dragged into to meet the man that was now calling out to her.

Mycroft Holmes was standing behind the open backdoor of the vehicle and looked as tired as Cathy had looked when she browsed her face in the bathroom. There seemed to be no theatrics and with it being so late and cold, she waited for no invitation or instruction from the older man. She dragged her feet to the car and allowed him to usher her into the backseat. He slipped back in the car once she had settled on the far side and slipped a seatbelt on.

“No Anthea?” Cathy asked as Mycroft knocked on the dark glass before them that separated them from the driver. The car began to move and she expected that she didn’t need to inform them of her destination.

Mycroft shook his head, sitting back into his seat but not bothering with a seatbelt. She glanced at his wrinkled three-piece suit and bags underneath his cold eyes. He looked as if he had been working all night.

“It’s her night off,” Mycroft simply answered and pulled his phone from his pocket to check the time, ignoring the chain connected to what was most likely a pocket watch in his vest pocket. He sighed before pocketing the device and then looked to the new passenger in the car, “You really should have woken Dr. Watston.”

“He needed the sleep,” Cathy informed him, not even bothering to ask how he knew John was asleep. She had heard John and Sherlock talk about his surveillance enough that she suspected that he knew every detail about their lives as well as her own now.

Mycroft nodded, “I don’t doubt that but Sherlock is a fickle man who might normally allow himself to bleed out than accept help from another doctor.”

“If you knew he needed medical help why didn’t you intervene sooner?” Cathy asked, still trying to grasp the complicated but simplistic relationship the Holmes brothers had. Clearly, they the sibling rivalry factor was there but Mycroft’s surveillance seemed to be a form of smothering protectiveness.

“When I involve myself in his affairs he tends to become reckless. I’m trying my best to keep him safe and assisting him by delivering you as fast as possible,” Mycroft explained. Cathy could only nod in understanding.

The ride was smooth and quiet. Somehow, they had barely encountered a red light and Cathy suspected Mycroft had a means of controlling them at his discretion and need.

Cathy had nodded off by the time the car stopped in front of 221B Baker Street. Mycroft had roused her with a gentle hand on her shoulder but she jumped up in alarm and looked at him with an unrecognizable expression. She blinked at him a few times before she registered where she was and what was going on.

“Sorry, I didn’t mean to doze off,” Cathy apologized as she unbuckled her seatbelt. She felt Mycroft’s eyes burning on her back as she made her way out of the car. She was too fast for the driver to open the door for her but not fast enough to miss the canvas bag he was offering her. She opened it and peaked inside to see vials, bandages, and other medical equipment.

“Thanks,” Cathy said absentmindedly as she pulled out a vial of morphine. That solved one of her problems. She looked back to the driver and gave him a nod before approaching the front door with the crooked knocker.

Afraid of waking the elderly landlady, Cathy tested the front door and found it unlocked. She hesitated, wanting to look back to the car for some sort of reassurance but thought it better if she moved forward. She took a deep breath and stepped inside the residence.

“Sherlock?” Cathy called out easily, trying not to be too loud but hoping Sherlock could hear her. 

“Come upstairs!” Sherlock shouted and Cathy quickly climbed the stairs. As she ascended them, the scent of rotting flesh grew stronger and groaned to herself and wondered why he had to keep the offensive experiment going if it was repelling his flatmate that he so desperately wanted back

“It’s about time,” Sherlock growled when she stepped into the living room and gasped. Sherlock was laying on his stomach on the couch with no pants on and a deep gash that started on the left cheek of his buttocks and ended on his leg, curving to the inside of his thigh. Both dry and fresh blood had been smeared across his backside and she couldn’t help but just stare.

Sherlock turned his head and looked back at her, “Don’t just stand there! I need morphine!” His voice brought her back from the shock of seeing the offensive man so exposed and quickly came to the couch and kneeled down to dig through the medical bag. She pulled out the morphine, an IV kit, and an antiseptic kit. She opened the antiseptic kit first and looked to Sherlock, “I only have an intravenous solution so let me start an IV first.”

“Hurry,” Sherlock barked, letting his left arm hang for her use. She nodded, feeling herself begin to shake slightly from the nervous feeling she couldn’t quite shake. She couldn’t help but think that this was it. She was being a doctor and Dr. Stamford and the other instructors were not there to oversee her and make sure she was doing everything correctly. 

She quickly told herself it was only stitches and that she had done this a million times. She took a deep breath, put on a pair of nitrile gloves and grabbed an alcohol wipe from the kit and reached out to grab Sherlock’s hand. His fingers were rough against her smooth ones, she felt as she examined the veins on the back of his hand and found there was a suitable one for her to start an IV. With the position he was going to have to maintain, it seemed the most ideal place to place the line.

After rubbing the alcohol wipe vigorously over the area she planned on placing the needle, Sherlock whined, “Sometime today, I’m dying here.”

“You’re hardly bleeding anymore. If you were worried about dying you would have went to A&E,” Cathy shot back as she inserted the needle in his hand. He hardly flinched and she assumed it was because of his familiarity with needles. John had told her all about his drug escapades and how he had even found him by accident in a heroin den after being missing for months when retrieving his neighbor’s son.

Cathy quickly set up the tubing and the bag of saline was placed the back of the couch to allow gravity to do its job. She wasted no time in administering a conservative dose of morphine through the IV, leaving Sherlock to complain, “I’m going to need more than that. Has John not told you I’m a junkie?”

“I thought you were a recovered junkie?” Cathy asked, making conversation as she waited until she saw his pupils dilate and a look of relaxation begin to settle in his features. He sighed, resting his head on his right arm as a makeshift pillow, “Is one ever really recovered?”

“I guess it’s probably the same thing as successful marriages,” Cathy said she used a syringe to inject a numbing drug around the wound. Sherlock hardly minded and asked, “How do you compare junkies to marriage?”

Cathy wiped the blood and cleaned the area thoroughly, “People always claim to have successful marriages because they’re simply together but it’s never a truly successful marriage until one of you has died to prove it was truly successful. Just like how you have to wait until you’ve died after not using any drugs to have claimed to be a recovered addict.”

“You expect that people are destined to fail at some point then?” Sherlock asked as he stared out across the living room. He could barely feel anything that Cathy was doing. She had just finished cleaning up the area and the floor was littered with bloody gauze and cotton balls.

“It’s not an absolute that people will fail,” Cathy said as she opened the suture kit and prepared the needle and thread, setting the medical pliers on the back of Sherlock’s uninjured leg. She looked at his firm buttocks and almost laughed to herself. She could not believe she was about to stitch up Sherlock Holmes’ arse.

Cathy looked up to Sherlock’s head, “I’m going to start now. Let me know if you feel any pain and I’ll top off the morphine.”

“Can you just top me off now?” Sherlock asked hopefully. She looked over him in the prone position and sighed, “Fine.”

“Thank you,” Sherlock said as she administered more morphine into his IV. His voice sound dreamy and relaxed from the drug and he looked quite at peace despite his injuries. 

Cathy couldn’t fight the yawn that had crept up and she let it take over before shaking the sleep from her head and kneeled over Sherlock’s legs and picked up the needle and the pliers.

It was slow work closing the wound because of the area. Sherlock had a rather full arse and her small hands ached trying to hold the skin together to get the stitches in the proper spots. It had taken her nearly an hour to finish the job and Sherlock had actually fallen asleep less than ten stitches in. The silence made it harder for her to want to stay awake but she managed to finish closing the wound without any complications.

Cathy taped a bandage over the stitched wound and groaned as her legs protested against her weight after being on her knees for so long. She cracked her back and neck, trying to stretch her body out and cleaned up the mess she had made. Sherlock was still sleeping and she looked over to the kitchen. The offensive odor was still present but more bearable as she had mostly managed to block it out while she was working. She looked over Sherlock and knew that he was not going to be able to walk or move or he could easily rip the stitches out due to the area of his wound. Someone was going to need to be here to help him and she realized John was the only candidate for the job.

Cathy gasped when she saw the jars filled with murky liquids and what she assumed were body parts. They were clearly the source of the foul smells and she immediately went back to the medical bag and put on a new pair of nitrile gloves. She knew Sherlock was going to hate her for this but it was the only way that John would even be willing to come back.

There was no point in draining the jars. She made sure the lids were secured tightly and dumped them in the garbage can and brought them to the back door that went out to the fire escape and placed them outside on it. She threw her gloves in the can and closed the door behind her.

The improvement of the room’s odor was immediately noticeable. She smiled to herself and went back into the living room to see Sherlock was still asleep and drooling on his arm. She couldn’t help but giggle as she grabbed a folded throw from John’s chair and draped it over Sherlock’s bare bottom and legs. She had almost considered taking a picture of his arse for John but figured he was soon going to see a lot of it.

There wasn’t much else for the younger woman to do so she packed up tools she had used and left a clean syringe and the half used vial of morphine for Sherlock to self-administer as she had no doubts that he knew what to do.

It was just past six in the morning and her phone had not made a peep so Cathy hoped that meant that John was still asleep and that she’d be able to catch a bus home in time to slip into bed without worrying him with her absence.

A bus was not going to be an issue as Cathy stepped out into the cold morning air and saw Mycroft’s car was still parked in front of the residence. The driver quickly came out and waited for her to approach before opening the back door for her. She would have protested or refused but she was so tired and she was not wasting the last few hours of her free weekend on the bus if she didn’t need to.

“Good morning, Ms. Moyle,” Mycroft said as she slipped in the car. Cathy was slightly startled as she assumed he had gone home and arranged the car to take her home. She did not realize that he had been sitting outside the entire time she had been caring for Sherlock.

“Don’t you ever go home?” Cathy asked as she settled in the seat and put her seatbelt on. She noticed that Mycroft was still in the same suit and it was ungodly wrinkled. He had clearly slept across the backseat while she stitched up his brother. Either he was really worried about Sherlock or he didn’t trust her and she was curious as to which it was.

“How’s my brother?” Mycroft asked, ignoring her question as the car pulled away from 221B Baker Street. Cathy sighed, “He’s sedated and going to need someone to help him out. Even walking down the stairs will probably rip his stitches out.”

“What did you give him?” Mycroft asked, taking a small notepad and pen from a pocket within his suit jacket. He clicked the pen and looked at her expectantly as she explained the dosages and that she left the remaining bottle. He wrote it down with a serious expression on his face.

“Thank you for looking after my brother,” Mycroft said after looking at his notepad for several seconds. He tucked it back into his pocket and gave her a weak smile, “You will be properly compensated and should expect the funds in your bank account before the end of the day.”

Cathy looked at him with a slightly disapproving look, “I didn’t do this for the money.”

“No,” Mycroft frowned, “you did this for Dr. Watson.”

“I’ll have him drop in on Sherlock after he wakes up and brief him on the evening’s events,” Cathy said, trying to keep the interaction between them formal. She couldn’t help but remember the warnings that Sherlock and John had given her about the aged man. 

“I think it’s best for everyone that you don’t mention my involvement tonight. As I’ve been led to believe, Dr. Watson does not want you to interact with me at all.” Mycroft called out the tension she was feeling about being in the car with him. She nodded, ”It’s true.”

“Have you considered my job offer?” Mycroft asked. He was taunting her to make a decision without John to try to persuade her. She looked at him as if he was joking, but he looked serious. She frowned, “Will it be anything like tonight?”

Mycroft studied her for a moment and then nodded, “You may be called to just about any country where our agents are in situations that require delicate handling. We can’t send undercover men and women to the hospital when an assignment goes wrong.”

“That’s it? I just play doctor to your agents?” Cathy asked, feeling like there was more to it all or else he wouldn’t have been so opposed to providing details during their last meeting. 

Mycroft shook his head, “There may be other needs that you could meet but you’d be properly trained and prepared before we put you into a new situation.”

“If I agree,” Cathy began, and the put her hands up, “and I’m not saying I am. But if I agreed, could you find a way to make it so that John would never know?”

There was a long pause and silence was almost overwhelming in the confined area of the car. Mycroft sighed and rubbed at the bridge of his nose, “That’ll be more work for me but I can make it very possible.”

“I care about him but I also need to do things for myself,” Cathy explained, trying to justify the secrecy she was asking for. Mycroft groaned, “I really don’t care about your personal life.”

Cathy couldn’t help but roll her eyes, “You’re just like Sherlock.”

“No, I’m not,” Mycroft snapped and Cathy chuckled. He frowned and looked at the window, refusing to acknowledge her further. She smiled lazily and looked out her own window and sighed at the thought that her bed was only minutes away.

The car finally pulled up in front of her building and she looked to Mycroft, “Thank you for the ride.”

“Thank you again for caring for Sherlock. I know he can be rather difficult,” he responded quickly and earnestly. She gave him a warm smile, “He’s a twat but he means the world to John. I did it for him.”

There was a moment of silence before the door opened. She looked up at the driver and nodded in thanks. She looked back at Mycroft, “I want a holiday before I start working for you. I’ve been working hard and I deserve a break before I have to start taking orders from you.”

“That can be arranged,” Mycroft answered, soundly slightly surprised by the request. He then waved her off, “Dr. Watson will be waking soon and I have work to do.”

“Good morning, Mycroft,” the younger woman said playfully before getting out of the car. “I’ll be in touch,” he called before the door was closed behind her. She pulled the keys from her coat pocket and went up to her flat as quietly as she could. She was grateful to finally be in the warm, dark flat. She slipped her shoes off before peeling the layers of clothes off. She dropped the outfit she had worn on the floor by the laundry machine and snuck off to bed.

John was still sleeping soundly and looked like he had not moved an inch. Cathy smiled at his slumbering form and carefully peeled the covers up so that she could slip in beside him. She pressed her body against his back and draped an arm over his waist. She could smell the masculine odor from his shampoo and inhaled it deeply. The warmth of his body and his scent were enough to allow her to fall asleep in moments.


	5. Chapter 5

“Why didn’t you wake me?” John asked incredulously when Cathy had explained the situation that had occurred while he had slept soundly through the night. The older man barely heard her excuses as he quickly buttoned his shirt. “You may almost be a doctor but that doesn’t make you one,” he spat out. He zipped and buttoned his trousers, not bothering with his socks as he jammed in his feet into his shoes.

Cathy followed his every move with worry and tried her best to ensure him that she had taken good care of Sherlock. She nearly mimicked John as she also dressed in a hurry. She intended to accompany him to Baker Street so that she could prove she had done a more than adequate job.

“And how the hell did he get into trouble? I left him and came straight here last night!”

“He said he miscalculated the depth of a pond,” Cathy explained as she grabbed her keys when they were finally heading out the door. John scoffed, “How that man has lived this long is beyond me!”

Cathy couldn’t help but smirk as well as roll her eyes. John’s frustrations were because of the concern he felt for his best friend and had nothing to do with her abilities as a doctor. She understood that and did not feel offended by his criticisms along the way to Baker Street in the cab but she still was looking forward to proving Sherlock had survived under her care.

On the way to Baker Street, John asked her exactly what she had provided to the consulting detective. She explained how she had cleaned the wound and surrounding area and left him with a saline drip and enough morphine to last until they got there but no more than that. She had been warned several times about the detective’s addictions and knew better than to leave him with the remaining drugs in the bag that had been provided to her. Luckily, Sherlock had been too exhausted and drugged during the night to fuss with her, which John had a hard time believing.

“I can’t believe he let you stitch his arse up. Of all the things…” John chuckled, finally coming down from his anxiety of what he would find at Baker Street. The younger woman had not spoken of Mycroft’s involvement and she had lied to John saying she had taken some supplies from St. Bart’s to have on hand for emergencies. He didn’t approve but she accused him of doing the same, “I’ve seen the supplies you’ve stocked in your kitchen and I know you didn’t buy them.” He had blushed to his ears, “I’ve got Sherlock to look after,” was his excuse.

“And I apparently look after the two of you. I didn’t take much and had I not, Sherlock would have been in a lot of pain,” Cathy argued. She had seen that John did not keep any drugs that Sherlock could abuse in any place that she had come across. 

“Christ,” John exhaled as the cab stopped in front of his home and saw that people were scuttling around, covering their mouths and noses. He absent-mindedly handed his credit card to the driver while looking outside. 

Cathy opened the door to step out of the cab when the familiar smell hit her nostrils. “Oh my god,” she gasped, immediately remembering the rotting flesh experiment of Sherlock’s she had left on the fire escape. The street smelled of death. John covered his face like the people on the street and followed Cathy out of the cab and hurried into 221B.

They were grateful that Mrs. Hudson was not home or at least did not hear them come in as they headed straight upstairs to John and Sherlock’s flat. Cathy was expecting to find Sherlock how she had left him, assuming his injuries and the morphine would keep him helpless. She was more than shocked to find that he was walking with a battered cane and staring at them with a scowl as they entered.

“Cathy told me what happened, are you ok?” John asked and rushed over to Sherlock who refused the doctor’s assistance and limped toward the kitchen with a cane a moment later as a teakettle began to whistle feebly. Sherlock shot her a rather hateful look so she put her hand gently on John’s shoulder, “I’ll take care of Sherlock’s experiment outside before Scotland Yard comes to investigate a murder.”

John whispered a thanks and he watched her walk to the window where the fire escape was and climb outside into the cold morning. The brief moment the window was opened was enough to reintroduce the strong smell of death into the flat as well as the bitter cold. The older man didn’t miss the aggressive look Sherlock was giving his girlfriend. He cleared his throat nervously and looked to his best friend, “Is everything ok? Do you want me to examine the stitches?”

“I’m fine,” Sherlock grunted and continued to carry himself over to the kitchen, “If you cared you would have answered your phone last night.”

“Cathy didn’t wake me up. She thought I needed the sleep,” John tried to say warmly. He appreciated her concern and it felt nice to have someone again who cared for his wellbeing in more than a matronly way that he was used to with Mrs. Hudson. It brought back the warm feelings he had during his marriage, before things went south, that he thought he might never feel again.

“Do you want tea?” Sherlock asked, ignoring the topic of the young woman, who was outside on the shaky fire escape and trying to carry down the jars of decomposing body parts down to the bins so they could be permanently disposed of. John wanted to kiss her for being so brave as to handle the dirty job and for having the nerve to throw out Sherlock’s experiment.

John shook his head while removing his coat, “We both know you can’t make a decent cuppa for your life.” He smirked while he rolled up his sleeves and then walked passed his friend, gently patting his back and grabbed the cups from the cupboard with the container of tea leaves. There was silence as he brewed the tea and added milk to Sherlock’s cup but opting to only added a small amount of sugar to his own. He normally added more but Cathy had been giving him grief about his sweet tooth and he had lost a pound just by cutting back on the sugar.

Sherlock allowed him to make the tea but stood before the table, which was covered with stacks of files from cases, dirty dishes, several racks of test tubes, and other random odds and ends. He was lightly fingering the engraving on a broken pocket watch that he had picked up off a murder victim a few years back. The victim had no family or friends and had left his body to science so Sherlock it was only fair that he keep the small item since he had solved the murder. His neighbor had been hoping to hide the man’s death so that he could he claim his pension checks for himself. The body had been dumped in a field nearly two hours outside of London. It was simple enough for even Scotland Yard to solve but Detective Inspector Lestrade still called the duo in. It was an uneventful case but Sherlock had admired the deceased recluse and his dwellings. The man had impressive historical and scientific artifact collections. Sherlock had wished he could have known the man in life instead of death.

“Where’s Mrs. Hudson this morning?” John asked trying to break the silence as he picked up the teacups and turned to look to his flatmate. Sherlock rolled his eyes, “It’s Sunday, she’s at church. Stop acting like you don’t even live here anymore.”

“I do live here, Sherlock, what’s with the attitude?” John asked and started to walk past his injured friend. He set Sherlock’s tea on the stand by his couch and then sat down with his cup in his own chair. He could hear the cane hitting the wooden floorboards aggressively as he walked to the couch. The cane he was using had been John’s when he had his own limp.

Sherlock did not sit down, he hooked his long and slender index finger into the small handle and brought the cup to his lips. John rightfully assumed because of the injury that Sherlock would not be able to sit down without being in agonizing pain and with his bratty attitude, he doubted he felt comfortable enough with Cathy there to lay in the prone position. 

“Are you out of morphine?” John asked, sipping his tea slowly. Sherlock frowned, “Who said I had morphine?”

John sighed, “Cathy told me she gave you morphine. I’m not mad.”

“Would you be mad if I told you that Mycroft delivered her here last night?” Sherlock said bitterly but also with a hint of glee. Just the thought of Mycroft being anywhere near his girlfriend made him uneasy but he ‘delivered’ her? What on earth was he supposed to think of that? Cathy had explained the night’s events in great detail but she did not mention Mycroft at all. He looked to his best friend and bit the inside of his cheek to keep himself from saying something that would either make him sound stupid or cause a fight. He decided to ignore the question entirely.

“Did she tend to you adequately?” John finally asked, trying to steer the conversation and not let Sherlock take control. Sherlock squinted at his friend, as if taking a moment to determine how best to continue. He then answered nonchalantly, “She did and she also overstepped her boundaries by destroying my research.”

“Sherlock, it smells of death in here even with those things outside. Now the street smells of it. I can’t stay here and be your doctor if you drive me away,” John scolded him. He earned a grunt from the detective but didn’t feel satisfied to prove a point. The doctor continued, “And you need to stop with the hot and cold feelings about my girlfriend. Cathy is a great woman and she cares about me. You should be happy for me.”

Sherlock said nothing and sipped his tea again. He glanced out the window to see Cathy getting back up the fire escape. She had successfully removed all traces of his experiments. He was only slightly impressed that she was able to tackle the job. Mrs. Hudson had cleaned many of his experiments but this was one of the few she had refused to touch. In fact, it had been days since he had seen her or had tea brought to his flat.

“Sherlock,” John said, recapturing his friend’s attention, “please be happy for me.”

Sherlock studied John carefully. He could see how happy and relaxed he was. He had rarely seen him so well rested and despite the fact that he kept fit, he was looking even better. He could see how content he was in the growing relationship with the younger woman despite the frown on his face. He wanted John to know the truth but he also wanted John to have the happiness he deserved. 

“I…” Sherlock said, pausing as he tried to find the best words. He looked out the window once more and saw Cathy was getting ready to open the window to come back inside. He founds his words quickly, “I’m happy for what she does for you but I’m not happy about the person that she is. I’ll leave it at that.”

John turned his head quickly to the sound of the window being opened and smiled, “How’d it go out there?”

“There was a copper in the alley who thought I murdered someone and was hiding the body but then a gentleman who introduced himself as Superintendent Lestrade intervened. He should be coming in shortly,” Cathy explained. Her cheeks were red from the cold air and her hair was slightly messy from the wind but she didn’t complain as she closed the window and then came into the sitting room. She put a hand on John’s shoulder and smiled at Sherlock but said nothing.

There was a knock downstairs and a few moments went by before they all realized Mrs. Hudson was not answering the door. 

“I’ll get it,” Cathy quickly volunteered so that she could escape the glare the consulting detective was giving her. She ran down the stairs and threw the front door open for Lestrade, “I’m so sorry, I guess Mrs. Hudson’s not in. The boys are upstairs.”

Lestrade looked the younger woman over. He did not know what her relationship was to John or Sherlock but he was amazed a young and attractive female was cleaning up the bio-hazardous waste of Sherlock’s experiments without a haz-mat suit. The oddest part was that she had not seemed too disgusted or disgruntled about it. When the report came in that there was the smell of death around Baker Street, he knew he had to get here as fast as he could or else no one would believe that Sherlock had not committed a murder.

“Thanks, love,” Lestrade said, giving her a nod before climbing the stairs two at a time. He seemed comfortable and familiar with the place. She decided to check on Mrs. Hudson and quickly before going back upstairs. 

It didn’t take long to find out why she had not been answering the door. Fixed to Mrs. Hudson’s door was a note that explained that she went to Cardiff to visit her nephew, as the smell had been too much for her to handle. On the note it also included directions for Sherlock on how to make his own tea. Cathy couldn’t help but laugh to herself as she pulled the note from the door and turned to head back upstairs. As she did, her phone began to vibrate in her pocket. She paused at the bottom of the stairs to look at it.

The number was blocked and she rarely received calls from anyone she did not know. She suspected who it was and when she answered, she confirmed that she was right.

“I have rather important matters to discuss with you. Would you please step out onto the street?” 

As dramatic as ever, it was Mycroft.

“I’ve spent enough time in the cold,” Cathy replied and smirked as she heard the annoyed sigh. He then replied, “I will not keep you in the cold.”

“Give me a moment,” Cathy said but he quickly said, “I’ll need more time than that. You may want to find an excuse to tell Dr. Watson. Consider this a trial run of what to expect when you work for me.”

“You mean you want me to go upstairs and tell John a lie in front of your brother? Are you mad?” Cathy hissed quietly. She was afraid of her voice carrying up the stairs.

Mycroft then said, “If you can lie well enough that Sherlock does not immediately call you on it, I’ll double the compensation in your bank account for last night’s events.”

There was a click and the line went dead.

Curiosity overpowered her and the young woman quickly logged into her mobile banking app on her phone and nearly cried out in shock when she saw that she had been ‘compensated’ already with $25,000. With $50,000 she could go on the holiday she had asked Mycroft about. It would be the holiday of a lifetime. But how could she account for such a large sum of money to John? He would never feel comfortable that she was receiving that kind of compensation when it was coming from Mycroft Holmes of all people. 

Would John think that she was using him and his relationship with Sherlock to gain position and money now that she was on Mycroft’s radar? She even questioned whether or not she really needed to lie to John.

Cathy glanced at the deposit in her account one more time before she pocketed her phone and climbed the stairs. She could hear the three men bickering about something but her heart was pounding so hard that she could hardly make the words out over the beating sound in her ears.

John noticed her immediately as she stepped into the sitting room. She tried to smile but her body felt frozen, like she had already been caught in the lie. Sherlock was barely looking at her and there was almost a hint of longing in Lestrade’s eyes as John got up and nearly ran to her.

“You’re white as death,” John said and placed his warm hands on her cold cheeks. It felt glorious and she wanted to sink into his touch but she remembered the task at hand.

Cathy took one of John’s hands from her cheek and held it tightly with both of her own cold hands, “I should go.”

“What, why?” John questioned and looked at her with more concern than she felt she deserved. She tried to give him a reassuring smile, “Clearly, Sherlock needs some time with you and I really should be studying.”

It seemed the most logical excuse she could think of. She glanced at Sherlock who didn’t seem alarmed or alerted to anything she had just said. In fact, she was convinced he was downright ignoring her. As far as Lestrade went, he was clearly displaying signs of envy. She made a mental note to talk to John about Lestrade as she barely knew anything about him but she didn’t like the looks he gave her.

“You’re probably right,” John said with defeat laced in his words. He was sad at the thought of being away from her after spending so much time with her. They were practically domestic, something he never thought he could have again.

“I’ll see you tomorrow, okay?” She reassured him but he frowned again, “Tomorrow?”

“Just make sure Sherlock doesn’t hurt himself. I think he missed you, too,” she told him. He seemed to agree and nodded, “Very well, do you need money for a cab?”

Cathy shook her head, she never accepted his offers for money but that never stopped him from trying, “You know very well that I prefer to take the bus.”

“Fine, text me when you’re home so I know you got there safely,” John said and leaned in suddenly and kissed her deeply.

His warm lips caught her off guard but she responded appropriately and enthusiastically. She brushed her hand on his cheek before pulling back with a smile, “Tomorrow.”

“I can’t persuade you for tonight?” John playfully teased. The younger woman blushed and shook her head, “You need to babysit and I need to pass my exam.”

“It was worth a shot,” John said playfully. He looked so happy that it made her sad. She put on one more smile for him and kissed him again, briefly. She pulled away before he could deepen the kiss and then said a quick goodbye to the other men in the room. 

As she began her descent down the stairs, she could hear Lestrade say, “You lucky bastard.” Normally, she might smirk or smile knowing she was desirable but with everything that was going on in that moment, she wanted as little attention as possible.

Mycroft was standing on the sidewalk when Cathy exited the building. He wore a long black coat and dull grey scarf. His face was red from the cold and he looked like a statue, solid and important. 

“Well?” Mycroft said simply.

“I don’t want to talk about it,” was all Cathy could say.


	6. Chapter 6

Cathy had never formally agreed to work for Mycroft but suddenly she found herself on the payroll. She had passed her final examinations with flying colors and could introduce herself as Dr. Catherine Moyle. With this hard-earned accomplishment came it’s own new sets of struggles and challenges. 

The first challenge Cathy faced was finding a way to acclimate to her new position as an on-call orthopedic surgeon at St. Bartholomew’s Hospital, a role created and provided to her by Dr. Stamford. When the director of the hospital had personally offered her the position, he had warmly mentioned that Dr. Stamford had pulled every string possible and turned in every favor to ensure that St. Bart’s had her, a gift and asset, to ensure them being a leader in orthopedic care. At the time a more stable and permanent position was not available and Dr. Stamford wanted to ensure that her foot was already through the door when a high-ranking position became available. She was humbled but conflicted. She was at the beck and call of the hospital twenty-four hours a day, six days a week. She was afforded the luxury of knowing that on Tuesdays she would not have to hear a screeching pager go off in the event that she was needed to stand-in for a surgeon. 

The second challenge the newly appointed doctor was faced with was the fact that she was now under Mycroft’s employment with the British government and she had no idea what to expect or do. The older Holmes brother had not been in frequent contact yet the deposits into her bank account were quite regular. She had begun setting the funds aside in case it was all too good to be true and Mycroft would ask for the money back. The hospital was paying decently enough and in a few months she would have enough squirreled away for a decent down payment on a little more than humble flat with a balcony and a second bedroom. With the chance that she could be called to St. Bart’s at any moment, she had no idea what Mycroft would expect from her. These two employment conflicts also led to her third problem.

John Watson. 

John could not know that she intended to work with Mycroft. If she were to sacrifice or cause conflicts with her position at St. Bart’s, it would cause John to question what was causing the distraction. He had also pressured her to accept Dr. Stamford’s generous position at the hospital and she had seen the two doctors talking as close friends do most times John would meet her after getting off a shift or out of a surgery. Dr. Stamford would clap John’s back and cheerfully announce when she approached, “I was just telling John here how wonderful it has been having you here!” If she were to start missing worse or even forfeit her position, John would be the first to know about it and that would open up an array of questions that she wasn’t quite ready to answer.

The final consideration was not what she considered or defined necessarily as a problem but it was more of an emotional and internal conflict. She wanted excitement and adventure. She wanted to be out in the world and doing things she had never imagined doing before. She had often begun romanticizing the idea of being a spy in a foreign country. Saving the prime minister’s life with her medical knowledge after an international affair had gone wrong. She pictured herself as the next James Bond and though she knew it was all silly and horribly inaccurate to what Mycroft probably had planned for her, it gave her hope that she wouldn’t be living a mundane life. She was sure she could settle in perfectly well at St. Bart’s. John would meet her a few times a week for lunch or coffee or perhaps even a side-trip to the park for a mid-afternoon snog. She could have drinks after work during happy hour with Dr. Hooper, the quirky spinster in the morgue. She could move up in the ranks and become a well established surgeon and retire comfortably by the age of sixty-five. She could lead a predictable and safe life.

Or she could allow herself to fall into the void of the unknown and the temptation taunted her like a sweet-tasting sin.

All of these thoughts ran through Cathy’s head multiple times a day, including during the moment that she sat across from John at quiet coffee shop near the hospital as he debriefed her on the events of an early morning case. He went on about how they had to chase a man through a tunnel in the underground and the fellow had managed to dislocate his arm when falling from a ladder while trying to escape through a maintenance shaft.

“Christ, Cathy, you should have been there to see it. It was probably one of the most disgusting dislocations that I’ve ever seen,” John chuckled, “You would have loved it.”

Cathy gave a weak smile to her lover and sipped her hot coffee. He noticed the dazed look in her eye and smiled, “Are you alright?” She hummed a response as she took a longer sip from her coffee than she intended in an attempt to deflect the question.

“Cathy?” John asked sternly. He was using his father tone, which Cathy despised. After some serious talks, she let him know how much it bothered her when he spoke to her like his child. She often reminded him of their relationship and that if he wanted a daughter to preach or reprimand, he’d have to find another girl because she didn’t have a “daddy kink.”

“I’m fine, John,” Cathy said shortly as she lowered her coffee cup onto the sticky table. The barista had wiped the table as they were walking in and it did nothing to remove the sugary mess that was on the table from a previous patron of the small coffee shop.

John looked over Cathy and sighed, “I’m sorry, I know you hate when I talk to you like that.” He sighed and ran his hand through his short hair. Cathy eyed the tan line on his right ring finger. He had slowly begun to stop wearing his wedding band. It both warmed her heart and scared her as his acceptance of wife’s passing also meant that he was becoming more attached to her. She still couldn’t decide what she wanted from the older doctor but she still kept telling herself she should feel no obligation to rush and decide it right away.

“I’m sorry,” Cathy finally said, she gave John a humble smile and reached out to take his ring-less hand and lightly fingered the tan line. He knew she noticed the missing ring, he never expected her to miss a thing. 

Cathy pulled John’s hand, turned it over, and leaned down to kiss his palm. He sighed contently at the affection and let his eyes close for a few moments. He opened them again and saw that the weak smile she had was gone and she looked sad. He slipped his hand from her’s only to grasp it.

“I know I’m not like you or Sherlock but I can see you’re upset. Did I do something wrong?” John asked sincerely. He hated to see her sad or upset. Anytime she was not her chipper self, he worried that she was getting ready to cut their ties and send him back into the world like a lost child.

“No,” Cathy replied and smiled softly. She thought again about her James Bond fantasy and said, “You always have these adventures with Sherlock and I spend most of my time in that bloody hospital or waiting in my flat to go back to that bloody hospital. I’m bored, John.”

John chuckled, “Is that all?”

Cathy frowned, “Don’t belittle me, John.”

“I’m not belittling you,” John protested and tried to give the younger woman’s hand a comforting squeeze. She pulled away, “You’ve run around the world for nearly two decades with Sherlock and before that you spent another in the army. You’ve lived an exciting life.”

“If by exciting you mean watching my best friends get blown to pieces and always watching my back for any criminals that might stick a knife in me when I sleep at night because every bloody person in this city knows my address, then yes, I’ve lived an exciting life. It all hasn’t been glamorous and fun for me,” John firmly told her, causing a small pout to form on her stressed face at the scolding. 

Cathy eventually sighed and said, “All I’m saying is that I could be doing something more exciting right now like going internationally and treating people in some developing country. I’m sure a refugee camp could use someone like me.”

“Is it because of me that you want to go?” John asked straightforwardly. For the first time in his life he felt like an anchor. He had always felt other people had tried to hold him back in life but never did he feel like he could be that roadblock for someone else. His partner was expressing her dreams and desires and he realized she had not even hinted at anything that might involve him.

“I’m not trying to escape from you, if that’s what you mean. You’re wonderful,” Cathy said, regrettably which left a sinking feeling in the pit of John’s stomach. John nodded and looked down at his near empty cup of coffee. 

“You know,” John said, taking a deep breath, raising his head and looking intensely at the young woman he had been so happy to call his own the past few months and said, “I love you. I love you and I don’t think you’ll ever love me and I think I’m ok with that.”

The world seemed to come to a screeching halt and Cathy stared at John, nearly mortified at the confession from the man she had become so attached and accustomed to. She cared deeply for him and she adored having him in her life. But love? Did she really love him or even know how to love someone? It seemed silly to consider it such a weird and foreign concept. She had never declared her love to anyone before. Even her family had had a hard time conveying that message to one another. They simply cared for one another and that was all there was to it. There were no birthday cards ending in, “Love, Mom.” She had never even said it to her mother during her finals breaths. How was she expected to say these words to a man she had know for a few months when she had never even said it to the woman who made and raised her and had known her entire life?

The pause was longer than Cathy could have anticipated. She had never been left in such a position before. She had never stuck around with anyone long enough to be in this type of conflict. She was facing a fight or flight debate in her mind, wondering what would allow them to face each other again after this moment without ever having to talk about this again while still remaining their relationship.

Cathy was spared the decision when her pager erupted into a shrieking beep, breaking the trance she was in and the erupting further disappointment that was growing on John’s aging face. She apologized quickly, “I’m sorry, I have to go.”

Without waiting for any response or acknowledgment from John, she grabbed her coat and purse and darted quickly from the table and out the door onto the busy street. She knew she had plenty of time to get to the hospital to be in her allotted response time but she ran as fast as she could down the street and hung a left, relieved to see the sanctuary that was St. Bart’s. 

The crossing sign on the block before the hospital entrance forced her to stop and catch her breath. She looked expectantly at the sign, waiting for it to change while the cars flew past her, causing her hair to blow across her face. She wiped at the hair and sweat sticking to her brow and fought the urge to scream or do something that could vent the emotions welling her in chest. She had never felt like this before though she had also never let someone come this close to her and for this long before John came into her life.

It was a temporary relief when her pager called her back to the hospital but now she felt like she should have followed through with what was happening in that coffee shop. She should have processed what John was trying to tell her and given him a response. She couldn’t take the time away from him to even think of how to approach him now because she was about to go into surgery and put all her concentration on her patient. She knew better than to let her emotions interfere with her duties and responsibilities.

It seemed like ages were passing but the light was still not changing to stop the traffic and allow her to safely cross the road. She tapped her foot impatiently and stared at the time on her phone incessantly. When over three minutes had passed, she threw her hands up in frustration. By this point, several other pedestrians stood besides her, wondering what was causing the light from changing. Cathy looked up and down the road but could not see a single traffic light halting the traffic in a close enough distance that would allow her to safely cross and backtrack to the hospital on the other side of the street.

Cathy pulled out her phone once more and was about to push on the number for the lead surgeon, a strict Scottish gentleman named Dr. Roger Campbell. She knew he would be incredibly disappointed and upset for her arriving into the surgery late but she felt she had no other option due to the rogue traffic light.

Mere seconds before she hit the screen to start the call, a symphony of car horns pulled her head up to look back at the street. Her heart pounded heavily as she saw the pristine and glistening black car that she hadn’t seen in quite some time but knew all too well.

Cathy groaned to herself and pocketed her phone. Knowing the drill and what to expect, she approached the car as it blocked the crosswalk and stopped the flow of traffic for the one side of the street. The other pedestrians that had congregated around her took it as a chance to run in front of the car and force the opposite side of the road to halt as they ran across the street.

The sound of the doors unlocking were barely audible over the sounds of the busy London street but she managed to just hear them before she opened the passenger side door, not waiting or expecting for the driver to open the door for her. 

Mycroft Holmes looked calmly at his phone as Cathy entered the back of the car and closed the door with a slam behind her. She crossed her arms and glared at Mycroft as she sat in front of him. 

“I have a surgery to be at,” Cathy stated firmly.

“No, you don’t,” the older man stated back, still not looking at her.

They remained silent as the car began to move and Cathy watched from the back window that she was facing that the traffic light had changed after they cleared the intersection. This confirmed her earlier suspicions that Mycroft could control the traffic of the city. 

Cathy fingered the stitching of the expensive leather seats as Mycroft tapped away on his phone. He looked deep in thought but also cool and relaxed at the same time. She couldn’t help but stare in wonder. Just like Sherlock, she felt that Mycroft was odd but in his own way. She preferred the oddness of older Holmes as it left her feeling less like she was dodging bullets and more like she was stepping on hot coals. At least with the hot coals she had a better chance of survival. 

“I trust you understand that I paged you,” Mycroft finally after minutes of silence. He pocketed his phone and looked directly into Cathy’s eyes. The direct eye contact made her uncomfortable but she refused to look away.

Cathy nodded, “I get that now. How did you manage that?”

Mycroft seemed annoyed by such a mundane question but responded anyways, “It’s not hard to intercept the frequency and you should trust by now that I can be anywhere and do anything.”

“Your mum must not have said no to you very much, did she?” Cathy replied sarcastically but Mycroft, as normal when she jabbed at him, ignored her.

Mycroft brushed away imaginary dirt from his pristine grey trousers and began debriefing the young brunette on the reason for his disruption of her coffee date, though Cathy felt he more or less saved her from a disaster.

“I have an agent in Mexico City that was following a lead on a suspected terrorist organization with a gunshot wound to his left leg. Suspected shattered femur and sepsis likely to set in in less than 10 hours. Anthea will accompany you on the flight to Acapulco and you’ll rendezvous with agent Guillermo Sandoval of the Mexican task force. You’ll travel by local bus to avoid suspicion as you enter the city. Please try not to embarrass me,” Mycroft explained without skipping a beat. He sounded bored as if he had said these exact words a hundred times before.

The young doctor froze, staring at Mycroft in shock. He had not been in touch for weeks and now he was planning to drop her in the middle of a country where she didn’t know a single word in the language they spoke. She had no training or idea of what to expect. She had imagined Mycroft would have eventually trained her and started her off with simpler tasks such as a train ride to Cardiff to tend to a dislocated wrist or fractured toe.

“You look alarmed,” Mycroft stated, “is this not the excitement you wanted?”

Cathy blinked at Mycroft and then frowned, “Were you eavesdropping my conversation with John in the coffee shop?”

Once again, the older Holmes looked annoyed, “I told you, it’s not hard to intercept the frequency.” That was all he had to say and she could easily tell that he would say nothing else. It was clear Mycroft was going to know every detail of her life whether she liked it or not.

“How am I going to account to John and to the hospital when I’m missing for an entire day?” Cathy asked as she imagined John stopping by her flat to check on her later in the evening or coming to meet her when she was supposedly getting out of surgery with a large cup of coffee and a chocolate filled croissant as they talked things out. The only problem was that she would be nowhere to be found. John would think she had abandoned him.

“Dr. Stamford will inform Dr. Watson that your cell phone died and you are scheduled for back to back surgeries. He’ll mend the logbooks and the schedule. You were not scheduled to be on call today.”

“You mean… Mike knows everything?” Cathy asked incredulously. She couldn’t believe she was entrusting the secrets she was holding against her lover with one of his oldest friends. There was a special place in hell and if she really believed in it, she was pretty sure that’s where she was heading.

Mycroft seemed to be done conversing with Cathy and pulled his phone from his pocket and went back to texting again. He reminded her deeply of Anthea and the few times she had been unlucky enough to have to travel in the backseat with her though she was more snarky when she actually did give a response to a question and even more possessed by the smart phone in her hands.

Cathy sighed and scooted toward the side of the car away from Mycroft and leaned against the door, placing her forehead against the cool glass and watched the world blur as they drove on.

There was so much to take in from the day but the determined young doctor was going to make it work. She was going to prove to Mycroft that she could handle anything that he could throw at her and when she came home she was going to talk things out with John. Of course, she wasn’t going to tell him what she really up to but she’d do her best to let him understand that she did care for him and that she wanted things to work between there. But first, she needed to figure out how on earth she was going to handle her sudden departure to Mexico.


	7. Chapter 7

John had been wandering around Regent’s Park for hours. The nighttime air was chilly but it helped keep the fog from taking over in his mind. He replayed the afternoon in his head over and over again and cursed himself for thinking that telling Cathy that he loved her was a good idea. He should have known better than to lay that kind of sentiment on her when she was having an existential crisis. He realized when she had run out of the shop that he had ignored her concerns and made everything about himself.

The guilt washed over him again and again as he imagined better ways he could have handled the situation. He had wanted to call her but he decided what she needed at the moment was space so that she could concentrate at work as well as think things over. He prayed to a god that he didn’t even believe in, asking that she wouldn’t chuck him. He had contemplated and confirmed to himself that she was the most amazing thing that had ever happened to him. He had begun coming to terms with the fact that he was falling more in love with her than he had ever been with Mary. He supposed he should feel bad about that but when the truth came out that she was a freelance agent and assassin who had lied time and time again, it was hard for him to feel like anything they ever really shared had been real. He continued the marriage hoping that the person he had fallen in love with would still be there but the big reveal left Mary acting like a different person. Perhaps that different person was who Mary really was and it was not a person he liked very much.

The biggest regret and longing John had about his past was their daughter. He wished so hard at times that he could have heard her first cries and tell her how much he loved her. That innocent life would have been the greatest thing John would have ever loved and it all vanished in a moment. It was cruel to think that the time after Mary’s passing would have been significantly more bearable had Elizabeth survived. Mary had taken so much from him in ways he had never known could be possible and he often had to stop himself from blaming her for taking Elizabeth as well. 

That was all the past, John thought to himself. He needed to stop dwelling in the dark moments of his life. He needed to keep moving onward and upward and Cathy was helping him do just that. He had spoken to his therapist twice a month once he and the younger woman had become more settled with one another. It was down from the weekly visits he had felt he desperately needed for years. At first, his care provider had warned John that she felt uneasy about him dating someone so much his junior but she didn’t hesitate to notice his continual improvements and upbeat attitude. She had even pointed out to him that he seemed to be in a far more healthy state than he had been in the prime of his time with Sherlock. He was finally learning to stop getting his adrenaline fixes by risking his life dashing after criminals and being at Sherlock’s beck and call. 

A loud roar echoed through the park and startled John from his thoughts. It was a lion in the London Zoo. He had unknowingly wandered close to the zoo’s perimeter. He could see the faint glow of light over the wall and tall trees that separated the attraction from the rest of the part. He chuckled at the interruption and the notion that he was in the middle of London and a lion of all things had been the thing to scare him.

John wandered closer to the wall and followed the gentle curve of the property line until he was near the street. He saw a few trucks unloading near a back door and before he could even see what was happening, a harsh light was pointed at him.

“Who are you?” a strict feminine voice called out. John squinted and covered his eyes to block the invasive light and replied, “Dr. John Watson, I was just wandering through the park.” The light was quickly lowered to the ground and John muttered a quick thanks while his eyes adjusted back to the dark.

“Sorry about that, mate,” the voice said and finally John able to see the person speaking to him. The woman was around his height and age, and wore a security guard’s uniform. He could see the pepper spray and radio at her hip and her plain badge pinned to her black jumper. Her hair was tied in a messy bun with stray hairs gently waving in the breeze. She offered a kind smile and asked, “What brings a doctor out to the park at this hour?”

John tried not to sound as pathetically sad as he felt but replied, “Just needed a think.”

“Lady problems?” The guard asked as she turned the flashlight off entirely and placed it into the holster on her belt. He tried to shrug off the guess but then sighed, “Could anything else cause a man to be wandering around like this?”

The woman chuckled, “If it matters, most of those problems aren’t even the big things. I’m sure you’ll figure it out in the end.”

John tried to smile, not even sure how he could ever convey to a stranger what was going on in his life. But he took her words and thanked her kindly. 

“I suppose I should be off then,” John said, and nodded to her. She said nothing as he turned around and began to walk back out into the dark park so that he could cross over towards Baker Street. The woman called out, “Have you ever seen the zoo at night?”

John paused for a few moments and turned back around. The woman was looking hopeful and nervous. Her hands fidgeted with the edge of sweater and she couldn’t be bothered to care about the delivery men grunting and carrying in food and supplies behind her. He smiled back to her, “I can’t say that I ever have.”

“After this lot finishes unloading, would you like to?” She asked bravely, trying to contain her smile though she looked like she wanted to shine like a spotlight. John could help but smile, “That sounds brilliant.”

“Fantastic,” the guard said, clapping her hands together and then stepping forward towards John with her hand outstretched to him she introduced herself, “I’m Macie Jacobs.”

John politely shook her hand, momentarily caught off guard by her firm grip, “It’s lovely meeting you, Macie.”

“I think they are just about finishing up,” Macie declared as she pulled her hand back and turned to stand along side John and watch the delivery men carry out a few last boxes and begin to pull up the ramps and close the truck doors.

“You been doing this job long?” John asked, making conversation and feeling rather pleasant about the company and the distraction. He knew he couldn’t mope around a total stranger without feeling like he was dropping his baggage on anyone who would listen.

Macie smiled and brushed some stray hairs away from her face, “I’ve been doing this job for thirty-five years, in fact.” John couldn’t help but be impressed, “That’s incredible. You must love what you do.”

His accolades caused her smile to falter and she sighed, “I did. Lucky timing for you though. Tonight’s my last night and I don’t think the new guy coming in would be so generous.”

“Will I get you in trouble?” John asked with concern, hoping not to get the kind stranger in trouble but she laughed heartily, “What are they going to do, fire me?! I’m already being forced into retirement so that they can hire a handful of university brats to replace me and pay them pennies for the _experience_.”

“That’s terrible,” John said as they watched the delivery men climb into their trucks and drive off into the night. The streets were quiet and the men were able to disappear from view in moments.

“It is what it is,” Macie said, clapping her hands again and pulled a set of keys from her pocket. They jingled merrily in the night while she led John through the side door and into a kitchen. They didn’t say much as they exited out through a restaurant and gift shop before being outside again and within the zoo’s walls.

John stared around in awe at the motionless zoo. He had never been one for going to touristy things but he imagined if he had Elizabeth, he would have taken her anytime she asked. He imagined that her favorite animals would be the flamingos and she’d clap with excitement every time she saw the funny pink birds. He couldn’t picture a face for her though. Would she have looked more like Mary or more like himself?

“Want to see some of the more lively exhibits?” Macie called out to John as she walked past him. It pulled John from his thoughts and he silently thanked her for it but saying, “Absolutely, that’d be wonderful.”

They walked past the dimly lit habitats and exhibits for the ostriches and kangaroos. The large birds walked around slowly, their odd heads bobbing and the kangaroos in the next pen over were congregating under a tree as if they were having a family meeting. His breathing hitched for a moment when he glanced over to his right and could see the tigers stalking around their enclosures. Their eyes shone eerily in the night as their shoulders rose and fell with every step they took.

“It’s amazing, right?” Macie said quietly to John, afraid of distracting any of the animals from their nighttime reprieve from screaming children pounding on the glass and trying to taunt them. John couldn’t help but simply nod. She smiled, “This is why I’ve stayed so long. The animals come alive at night.”

John knew most of the animals were nocturnal but he had never seen so much energy and excitement amongst captive animals in his life. He knew their entrapment was for their safety and conservation but it was still sad to see them being confined. 

Macie paused for a moment, allowing John to catch up to her. They were standing before the lion’s den. She was still smiling but her eyes reflected her sadness as she said, “The caretakers won’t wrangle everyone into their sleeping quarters for a least a half hour. The lions are my favorite and this will be the last time I’ll ever see them like this.”

It was odd for John to feel the emotions of others, especially someone he barely knew but he felt at ease as he put a hand on the woman’s shoulder and squeezed it. She leaned into him, acknowledging the comfort he was offering her and then pointed out to a fierce looking lioness, “That’s Greta and her cub, Koju. He’s only about six months old.”

“She’s beautiful,” John whispered and watched as the cub rolled around a grassy patch in the enclosure while his mother sat perched so dominantly on a tall rock. He looked over to where fresh water flowed into a pond and saw the great and powerful male with his glorious mane and knew that was who he had heard from outside the walls.

Macie looked to John and noticed him staring at the proud lion and said, “That’s Brutus but don’t let the name fool you. It’s Greta who runs the pride. If they were out in the Serengeti, she would be the fiercest lioness to behold.”

John couldn’t help but chuckle, “Sounds like someone I know.”

“Is that one that has you wandering around London in the dead of night?” Macie asked, trying not to pry but trying to show that she was willing to listen. John wasn’t sure if he should smile or frown. He had no idea where he stood with her. He kept a straight face and said, “Of course it is.”

Macie shrugged John’s hand from her shoulder. Somehow they had both gotten lost in their own thoughts and John apologized if the touch had been too much. She smiled, “I’ve been alone for quite some time. It was a kind gesture, Dr. Watson.”

Despite the darkness around them due to the limited lighting, John could see that this strange woman had been overlooked so many times and in so many ways. These last moments at her post among these magnificent creatures seemed like the final blow for her. She looked broken but tried to remain intact and it distracted him from his own dismay. He wanted to thank her for kindness and he could only think of one thing.

“Macie, you are a wonderful woman,” John said, reaching out to her again but this time touching her cheek softly. He was surprised but the softness of her skin and even hair as he brushed more stray hairs away and tucked them behind her ear. She closed her eyes for a moment and hummed. Without hesitation, John leaned in and kissed Macie softly on her lips as he cupped her cheek. She moved her lips gently against his and as they pulled away from each other, Macie touched his arm, “Thank you.”

A loud roar had startled the pair and John turned his head back to the lion’s den, looking to the male and was surprised the sound had not come from him. He looked to Greta, the lioness, as a growl echoed deep from her throat and she looked straight at him. Macie touched his shoulder and said, “Perhaps it’s time for you to go home.”

 

“How are you and John doing?” Anthea asked while Cathy stared out the window and looked out onto the Atlantic Ocean. It was dark but she could faintly see reflections from the moon on the water below. Occasionally, she young brunette could make out the lights some of the larger ships making their way somewhere in the world. 

Cathy was a bit taken back by the question and looked to Anthea with a glare, “I thought you knew everything.”

“Not _everything_. That’s Mycroft’s job,” Anthea replied as she sat in front of Cathy to face her. Cathy looked disappointedly at her appointed travel companion and said, “Can I help you?”

“I’m trying to be…” the older woman said and paused, trying to find the word and then said, “Sociable.” Cathy stared blankly at her but Anthea didn’t seem to mind. She was sure that Mycroft’s assistant was just bored because her phone had lost it’s ability to charge which Cathy assumed was due to the excessive wear and tear of the connection point for the charger in the phone. It died an hour after takeoff and Cathy took a nap with a satisfied smirk on face. Now she was wishing that Anthea could have her phone back because she did not want her to be sociable.

“I’m sure John will forgive you.”

Cathy glared, “Excuse me?”

Anthea shrugged, “You know that I know what happened in that café before Mycroft paged you. I’m just letting you know that John will forgive you. It’s in his nature.”

It was pretty obvious that John would most likely forgive her but she knew that it was an event unlikely to be forgotten. Also, she didn’t like that fact that Anthea felt she had the right to speak to her about her relationship with John given their limited but tense history. She frowned at the older woman but said nothing, looking back out the small window instead. She tried to remain amazed at how fast they were actually traveling. She had spoken briefly with the pilot before take off when he had approached her before boarding the plane and asked, “Are you accustomed to flying on a Concorde?”

Cathy wasn’t sure what the man was asking and felt almost humiliated when it was determined that she was far too young and had grown up far too poor to know that the plane that Mycroft had arranged for them was a discontinued plane that topped speeds over one-thousand miles an hour. Discontinued after the terrorist attacks in America had damaged the aviation industry, the British government had become the only operator left of one of these historic yet advanced planes and the world had no idea about it.

The inside of the plane, despite being astronomically expensive, was cramped. It had been modified to allow rows of two to the right and allowed a wider path to the left side of the plain to walk the length of the plane. The seats were more comfortable than Cathy could have imagined on an airplane despite her lack of experience flying or traveling. Most of her journeys had been on uncomfortable overnight buses to Paris or Amsterdam. She had never strayed far from home. She imagined her first grand trip might have been to New York City or Rome for a fun getaway but instead she was rocketing over the Atlantic Ocean at an absurd speed to dive into some international affair she had no insight on that could potentially get her killed.

The flight time to Acapulco would have taken a normal plan nearly half a day or more to traverse the distance from London. It was just past the fifth hour from take off when the pilot announced their descent towards a small private airfield outside of the coastal city where the public would not be able to see the nor it’s passengers disembark. Cathy was unsure how the pilots could see where to land due to their being almost no lighting but they managed it with what appeared to be no difficulty at all.

It was a relief to get out of cramped plane and away from Anthea, who had finished off the flight by napping in the seat next to her instead of sleeping in one of the many empty rows. She had been asked to change her clothes before walking off the plane, turning in her jeans and mock turtleneck sweater for a wine red a-line dress with a high round neck and an exposed back with a scallop trim that exposed her back more than she felt comfortable with given the situation. The skirt fell inches above her knees. She had no idea how they had known her size or for what reason the dress needed though when Anthea had handed her he dress he said, “It’ll hide the blood.” She refused to say more and the doctor wasn’t sure if she was better off not knowing to avoid overthinking about the variables or to go in with a million different ideas. No matter what she felt, she was still very uninformed and now feeling very inappropriately dress. She hoped that would change soon.

Cathy was handed a long, black silk shawl when she was exiting the plane to wrap herself in. The open field they were in allowed a heavy breeze to pass by and she was grateful as the shawl made it easier for her to keep the dress from blowing up with every determined gust.

Thankfully she was given practical heels, if that were even considered possible, but the steps brought to the plane door had an open grating that caused her to feel like she would topple down the entire way at any moment. She looked down the steps to see two men staring up at her. One of them looked like a typical soldier with in a camouflage outfit and a rather aggressive looking gun slung over his shoulder. He appeared to be no older than eighteen while man next to him appeared to be nearing his forties. 

The second man was dressed in a tuxedo, which caused Cathy to feel some mild relief about her own attire. He had tanned skin and jet black hair. His features looked rugged from exposure and age but he had a youthful look to him. His dark eyes were captivating and the young doctor couldn’t help my smile as he held a hand up to her to assist her with the final steps. She couldn’t help but smile even more when Anthea was not offered any assistance as she trailed behind her.

“You are the doctor?” the well-dressed man asked her, looking her up and down with approval. Cathy was glad it was dark or else he could see her face was perhaps redder than the dress she was wearing. 

Before Cathy could respond to the man, Anthea spoke for her, “Dr. Moyle, this is Lieutenant Colonel Guillermo Sandoval of the Mexican Army.” She looked at the handsome man before her and remembered her hand was still in his. He gave it a gentle squeeze as Anthea continued, “Lieutenant Colonel Sandoval, this is Dr. Catherine Moyle.”

With a thick accent, the well dressed officer responded, “I did not know doctors could be so young and beautiful.”

“We’re hear to work,” Anthea reminded him with a frown. Cathy blushed further but attempted to remain professional, “Thank you, but Anthea is right, we are here to work, sir.” She gently pulled her hand from his and then felt her travel companion place a hand on her exposed back. The foreign officer advised them to follow him and lead the way into the night. Anthea leaned in and whispered, “Watch yourself with him. He’s got quite the reputation.”

“I can tell,” Cathy whispered back but couldn’t help but eye the backside of their chaperone. She supposed she should feel terrible to allow a beautiful foreign man to entice her when she had no idea where she stood with John back at home. It made her feel terrible that John was probably locked in 221B Baker Street throwing darts at her face while she was being charmed by strangers. She decided it was best to put John to the side for the time being. She would rectify their problems when she got home.

They walked through the dark airfield toward a small, lit building. The air smelt of the ocean which Cathy was able to hear once the Concorde had powered down it’s engines. She longed to run to the shore and dip her toes in the sand but she had a task to complete and she still had no idea where they were going or who was going to be there when they arrived.

They approached the building as a black Cadillac Escalade pulled up the building and stopped before them. The windows were tinted darker than the night and it was apparent the large SUV had more than the regular upgrades that a regular buyer might have when picking a model from a car lot. When the driver got out and opened the door to the backseat, Cathy was able to see reinforcements in the door. It was heavily armored which both comforted and concerned her at the same time.

Cathy had been keeping relatively calm about everything until she was assisted with getting in the vehicle and it became apparent that Anthea would not be joining her. Her eyes widened and Anthea gave her a firm warning, “You keep you head up, eyes open, and do as your told.” The driver closed the door and the doctor looked around in a panic. Nothing in the car looked menacing but it was difficult to see out the windows and she quickly tried the door to ask Anthea what was her next steps but the door wouldn’t open.

It was not something she wanted to admit but John was right. She had no idea what she would be getting herself into if she were to follow a career path laid out before her by Mycroft. Now she was in an exposing dress in a foreign country with no familiar faces and somehow she was supposed to save a man’s life.

While the panic began to grow in the younger woman, the passenger on the opposite side opened the well-dressed Lieutenant Colonel entered the vehicle and closed the door swiftly behind him. He looked to Cathy with his dark eyes and smiled, “Are you ready, Dr. Moyle?”

“As I’ll ever be,” was the only response she could mutter. He smiled more sympathetically and said, “Is everything ok?”

She said nothing as the driver climbed into the front of the large vehicle. He quickly departed from the airfield. Cathy shook her head, “I’m fine, just a bit antsy.”

“That’s good,” her companion for the evening said. He then handed her an envelope and said, “Here’s your instructions for the evening. Read them well and let me know if you have any questions.”

“I’m sure I’ll have loads,” Cathy muttered but the man was not able to hear her over the sound of the tires on the gravel road. She stuck her fingernail into a miniscule opening near the corner of the envelope and pulled the stuck paper apart, opening the envelope enough to withdraw it’s content and then placed it on the seat next to her. She could feel Lieutenant Colonel Sandolva’s burning on her face but she kept it straight and unfolded the contents of the envelope and read her instructions.

The letter was brief and basically stated that their target was in the theater district in Mexico City. This explained their attire, she thought, and then frowned when she read that the agent they were attempting to help was in a crawl space in an opera house. The envelope had contained tickets, which had fallen onto her lap when she opened the instructions. They were going to the opera as if they were patrons and would have to find a way to their target without being discovered. Then they would have to find their way out but they would have an unfair disadvantage to leaving than entering and that would be escorting an injured man with a gunshot wound without suspicion.

Cathy looked to her companion after reading the letter over three times, “There’s not a lot of details here.”

“They felt like you wouldn’t need them,” he responded quickly. He reached into his jacket’s breast pocket and pulled out a pack of cigarettes. He offered one to the doctor but she politely declined. He kindly cracked his window before lighting his own and blew a large stream of smoke out the window before he said, “I’m supposed to do all thinking. You’re supposed to save the life.”

The young doctor nodded and folded the letter back up and picked up the tickets. She handed them over, “I don’t have pockets, Lieutenant Colonel, perhaps you should hold onto these?”

The man smiled, “It would be easier if you call me Gil.”

“Gil?” Cathy said, feeling like the name was strange on her lips and tongue. He nodded, “My name and title can be a mouthful, as the Americans like to remind me.”

Cathy nodded to Gil, “It can be.”

“Shall I continue to call you Dr. Moyle? I would really like to call you Catelina,” Gil suggested. The way the name fell off his tongue with his accent caused the younger woman to blush. She nodded, “That would be fine.”

The rode in silence for a quarter of an hour while Gil finished a second cigarette. When he was finished, he the smoldering butt out the window and closed it. They were beginning to approach some form of civilization as they were on a main road with cars driving past. It was a bit of a relief but when she managed to let her mind wander, she’d panic when she realized the cars were driving on the wrong side of the road.

Girl laughed heartily when he caught on to what was happening, “I once met a man from your country who said the world drives on the right side of the road but the British drive on the right side.” Cathy smiled to Gil as he continued, “My English was not very good and it took me hours to understand the joke.”

“Your English is very good,” Cathy complimented him. He smiled, “Thank you, Catalina.” Hearing her name in spanish was not something she ever imagined being a turn-on but here she was, blushing again as they attractive foreigner smiled further.

“Do you speak Spanish, Catalina?” Gil asked as they drove through the night. She shook her head, embarrassed that she was chosen for this mission when she wasn’t even the tiniest bit bilingual. He didn’t seem to mind but he did scoot closer to her on the seat and said, “Let me teach you some things.”

“Um,” Cathy said loudly and uncomfortably, but saved herself with. “Sure, that would be lovely.” Gil didn’t seem to catch onto her hesitation. He turned his body to face her and asked, “Do you know how to say hello and goodbye?”

Cathy smiled and nodded, she at least knew that, “Hola and adios.”

“Very good, mi querido,” Gil responded enthusiastically. She frowned and tried to repeat what he had said, “Mi querido?” He smiled and reached a tan hand to rest on her exposed knee, “My dear.”

“Oh,” was the only think she could think to say.

“Shall we continue?” Gil asked. Cathy nodded and he went on, “We are going to the opera so there will be many important people. We must remember to be respectful. In Spanish, we speak differently to our friends than our elders.”

“How much speaking will I have to do?” Cathy asked, unsure how she was going to be expected to know more than how to say hello to a person without giving herself away. Gil squeezed her knee, which caused her to shift but he seemed undeterred, “I will do all the talking but if someone speaks to you, you can just show them your beautiful smile.”

It was cheesy and laid on thick but the young brunette blushed and tried to turn away. She was stopped as his other hand reached out and caught her gently by the chin and turned her to look back to him. If it were possible, his dark eyes looked even darker and she could see color pooling in his cheeks in lips. She glanced to his neck and could see the throbbing of his vein. She could feel his hand begin to slid it’s way up her smooth thigh from it’s place on her knee. She casually pressed her legs together to diminish his access.

“Catalina,” Gil breathed out huskily as the hand on her chin cupped her cheek. His fingertips played with the loose hair near her face as his thumb grazed her cheek gently. “Gil,” Cathy said, starting to pull back from him but the door stopped her. His hand rose further up her leg and his body moved in closer. She quickly put her hands up in an attempt to push on his chest and force him to keep his distance.

It seemed as if the Mexican was growling at her and without hesitation, he pulled away from her face and enwrapped both her wrists with his large, calloused hand and held them down by her knees. She gasped in surprise and tried to pull back but his years of military service had trained him to be quick and strong. John had similar skills but he had never used them on her unless she was consenting.

The driver pretended to hear nothing as Cathy stated as firmly as she could, “Let me go.” Gil said nothing but responded by pressing his face against hers and pushing his lips onto hers. She tried to pull as far away as possible but her head was just slipping on the window, allowing her to move left and right but not further back. She kept her lips closed as his revolting and slimy tongue tried to force it’s way into her mouth. When he understood she wasn’t submitting to him, he let her go for a moment and shifted back.

“Thank you,” Cathy breathed out with relief but was quickly silenced and that moment of temporary relief she felt, despite the suffocation she was feeling having to remain in the car, ended quickly. Before she could even say another word to the offensive man, a great force struck her across the face. It left her disoriented and scared as she felt the man’s hands on her again. He was muttering things to her in Spanish and she wanted to know what he was saying but also terrified to know as well. She tried to continue to struggle but when his strong hands tangled into her dark locks, she cried out in pain, distracting her from trying to squirm away from his grasp.

Gil’s free hand made a direct line up her skirt. He was not playing nor was he looking to tease and wasted no time and pulling on her lace panties. She could feel and hear the seams of the sheer fabric ripping as he forced them down her thighs while still keeping a firm grip in her hair. She reached up to the hand and tried to pull his firm grip out of her locks, using her nails to claw at his skin, but he seemed unaffected. She tried to kick at his legs as he started to struggle with her panties to get them lower while screaming at him. She sounded like a wild animal but she knew he was the real animal.

The struggle went on for several minutes. Cathy was losing her energy to fight while the man seemed content to continue the fight for hours on end. Her dress had ripped, her panties lost in the car, and her hair a tangled mess. She kicked, she bit, she scratched, and she yelled but Gil seemed only seemed more and more aroused by her defenses. 

Gil could sense the struggle was nearing its end. Instead of hitting or grabbing her, he leaned in and pressed rough kisses on her skin. He bit, sucked, and licked at her bruise and scuffed skin. Cathy cried out and begged for the man to stop but he ignored her pleas. She could hear the sound of his belt being undone, followed by the sound of a zipper, and the panic rose again. With a new found urgency, she used all of her might to push Gil off of her. She was slumped back against the door, her head low to the seat and her hips were raised. Her legs were clear and she kicked her attacker in the face with as much force as she could muster.

The assault caught Gil off guard and his arms splayed out, knocking the driver on the back. The driver called back to Gil in rapid Spanish. Gil screamed, “Voy a matarla! Voy a matare! Sabes quien soy? Te quemare a ti ya tu pais!”

Cathy did not dare ask him to speak English. She could tell that she had infuriated the man, not that it was any of her fault, but she had awoken an internal rage in him that she did not assume would have been worse than his current actions but he quickly proved her wrong when he dove at her, hands quickly wrapping around her throat, starting another round of their struggle. 

The stronger man yelled out to the driver, “Para el coche! Voy a ensenar a esta perra una leccion.” Cathy could not hear the words as her heavy but slow heart thumped in her ears like a bass drum. She could feel his fingertips bushing desperately into the soft skin of her neck and no amount of gasping would allow air to pass into her lungs. She froze with the panic that he was going to kill her and there was nothing she could do.

There were some bumps as the SUV suddenly pulled off the road and Gil released his hold on the doctor’s throat. She responded by coughing hoarsely and gasping for air. She raised her hands to the roof of the car as if she had been swimming from the bottom of the ocean for air and had just broke the surface.

Cathy was disoriented and unsure of what was happening. She just knew they had stopped and that her lungs were burning with the air. As she tried to push herself up to a seated position, the door opened behind her and violent arms wrapped around her from behind and slid her out of the vehicle. She tried to yell as her legs thudded out of the car after her before she was thrown in the dirt. Pain was shooting up ther arms from the abrasive ground with small stones and broken glass. She tried to roll onto her knees in an attempt to get up and scramble away. Her bare knees were no match for the rugged ground and the foot pushing her back down, grinding the sole and the dirt and rocks into the exposed skin of her back.

The only sounds the abused doctor could make were hoarse yells and painful gasps for air mixed with terrified sobs. It was dark with the only source of lighting being the diffused lights of the car she had been pulled from moments earlier. She could make out the faintest shadow of her attacker as he lifted his foot off her back, only to kick the back of her skirt up before kneeling on her legs. 

The hands of her assaulter burned more than the rough ground did on her skin. She could hear the rustling of his clothes before he leaned on her body and whispered something to her in Spanish. She cried out again as she felt him pressing against her arse. He pulled back and she prepared herself for the worse.

A moment passed and then she heard an echoing sound that caused her ears to ring and warm water sprayed across her back. Then she felt Gil’s body drop onto her back. She screamed as loud as she was capable and tried to scramble away. She rolled on her back and scooted back in the dirt as his body slipped off her but remained motionless, face down in the dirt.

Bright flashlights came from the road and pointed to her as she covered her eyes with her arm while attempting to get up so she could make some attempt at running. With the light, she could see the blood smeared on her arms and she knew that Gil was dead.

“Dr. Moyle!” a voice called out in the dark past the offensive lights as Cathy spun around and started running. She ignored it and tried to run into a sparse field without her shoes, which had somehow fallen off in the struggle in the vehicle. She wasn’t fast but she had no idea what was happening and wanted to get her bearings on her own. Whoever had come to her aid may not have done so without a reason. She had no idea what to think.

The sound of fast steps behind her caused her to realize that she was being chased by someone much faster than she was. This wasn’t like the thugs back in London that would lose interest in less than a street block of chasing. She was among an elite class of humans who trained to be lethal. What had she possibly been thinking when she had accepted Mycroft’s offer? The truth was that it was because she wanted John Watson and now she would never see him again. 

Strong arms wrapped around Cathy’s narrow waist as her chaser caught up to her and brought her to a halt. Unlike Gil’s grasp, the person was firm and masculine but gentle and spoke calmly to her, “It’s ok, Dr. Moyle. You’re safe.”

It was an English accent. That was all it took for Cathy to relax in the stranger’s arms. She slumped against his chest as her knees buckled. He easily lifted her into his arms and held her into his chest and said softly, “I got you from here.” 

A few minutes passed as the man carried the young woman out of the field and back to the road. She lifted her head off his shoulder when the lights were back on them and could see Gil’s body being moved back into the vehicle along with the driver who had ignored her plight. There were gas cans around the car and she understood immediately that they intended to torch the vehicle with its already deceased occupants inside.

“Cathy?” a voice called out and she was able to tell it was Anthea. She had come running over to her as the man asked if she was ok to stand. “I’m ok,” Cathy replied and looked to him. He was dressed black slacks and a black polo shirt and had a youthful appearance to his face despite looking to be nearly fifty years of age. The young doctor could tell this was a man who had not done field-work for some time and was not equipped for the situation as a normal field agent might. 

“Look at the state of you!” Anthea cried out when she was close enough to expect the woman who was supposed to be in her charge. She cradled Cathy’s face and attempted to brush down her, “I’m so glad we got to you in time. The whole operation was a set up!”

Anthea looked to the man who had carried her back, “Thank you, Harry, you’re as fast as you’ve ever been.” The man, now known as Harry, smiled to Anthea with quite a bit of fondness in his eyes, “Anything for you, my dear.” He patted her shoulder before looking intently at her face. He reached out to her cheek and used his thump to brush a drop of dried blood on the edge of her lip.

“I’ll see you at home,” the man said and walked away toward the flurry of activity by the vehicles that had arrived. Cathy was in too much distress to care that she had just witnessed an intimate moment of Anthea’s, something she didn’t even think that the assistant was even capable of having with her cool demeanor and demanding job.

“Look at me,” Anthea ordered and looked into her eyes with deep concentration. She frowned, “I think you’re concussed. We’ll have to have a doctor look you over once we get back home. You’re the only one we have right now.”

The shocked doctor had still not found any words to say as she could not believe the fate she had just been spared. It had all happened so fast that she wasn’t able to comprehend how she had gotten from the ground to having Anthea wrap her in a blanket and leading her to another vehicle. 

After some fussing and guidance, Anthea and Cathy sat in the back of a dark sedan and were departing from the scene they had found the younger woman. Anthea rubbed a comforting hand up and down Cathy’s back as she sat emotionless, staring blankly ahead at the dark road back to the airfield.

“There’s going to be some very injured men when we get back to the plane,” Anthea explained calmly, “I know it’s a lot to ask of you right now but we’re going to need your help.”

Cathy registered the words and nodded so slightly that Anthea had thought it was just the motion of the vehicle. She pulled her hand away from her back and asked, “Is there anything I can do for you?” She shook her head but relaxed back into her seat. She just needed a few moments to contemplate.

It was not in Cathy’s nature to easily admit she was wrong. She knew she would never be able to tell John about the evening’s events and if she did, he would probably never speak to her again while hunting down Mycroft for putting her in this position. She had asked for adventure and excitement and she had just received it in abundance. It was her naivety that caused her to believe those two nouns would always be an enjoyable experience. Her silly dreams of being a secret agent were scattered to the wind. She couldn’t even fend off her attacker. Had Anthea and the other members of her team not arrived when they did, she would have been violated and her lifeless body would have probably been left in that field. It pained her to even imagine what would happen if John never knew why she disappeared or even worse, to know exactly what her fate had been. She could never tell him that he had right.

“We have a lot of compromised agents in the country right now. This was supposed to be an easy mission. We had no idea that most of the government had turned against us or we would have never put you into such a complicated affair. It was just supposed to be a test of your nerve,” Anthea explained after several long moments of silence. Cathy looked to the woman, noticing the guilt laced in her features, and said, “What happened to the agent I was supposed to save.”

“He’s dead,” Anthea confessed solemnly. All the doctor could do was nod. She took a deep breath despite the pain it caused and said, “It’s going to be a long night.”


	8. Chapter 8

It had been days since John had heard anything from Cathy and he was worried. Sherlock had tried to ease him by being wholly unsupportive by telling him, “It’s not unheard of for women to flee at any sign of commitment. Your declaration of love was her ticket to leave.”

John knew deep down that she was not ignoring him because of what he had said. She was too brave for that. She had endured some of his biggest flaws and had held his hand when each one had been exposed. She had the opportunity to run months ago and he knew it would take more than that for her to leave now. The more he thought about their relationship, the more he was convinced that they would be fine. He just needed to know where she was.

“She called off work for quite a few days,” Mike had confessed to his friend when he had called asking if Cathy had been reporting to work. John felt that was incredibly odd but still felt like it had nothing to do with what he had said to her in that café. 

The perplexed doctor refused to go on any cases, which greatly annoyed the consulting detective. He kept his phone plugged in and planted himself next to it in fear a call would come in and he would miss it. He wanted Cathy to know that no matter what happened, he would accept whatever it was that she would give him.

Sherlock had announced, after four days of waiting, that he was going to find Wiggins, one of his closest homeless friends, to solve a case. John wished him the best of luck, knowing Sherlock would be annoyed with him and back in their flat before lunch.

Mrs. Hudson tried to entice John to come down to her flat for tea and biscuits several times a day but he refused. He wanted to be alone and he wanted to be in plain view if she were to walk through his door. The elderly landlady sighed with disappointment and continued about her business.

John stayed in his living room chair until noon and sure enough, his best friend was back home and complaining about Wiggin’s inadequacies. Apparently, Sherlock was tailing a young physicist accused of stealing work from a previous laboratory and Wiggins had approached the man and asked him plainly if he had stolen the documents. The physicist, who happened to also be a marathon runner, bolted away at a speed neither could even attempt to keep up with. Sherlock slapped a fifty-pound note in the homeless man’s hand and called it a day.

“Still no word from the elusive Dr. Moyle?” Sherlock asked sarcastically as he drank tea and shoved a biscuit in his mouth that had been handed to him by Mrs. Hudson on his way up the stairs. John shook his head, “Not yet.”

“She’s not coming back,” Sherlock said sternly, “it’s time to move on.”

“No offense, Sherlock,” John said bitterly, “but you know nothing of love and relationships.” The detective scoffed, “I dated Janine, didn’t I?”

John let out a sarcastic laugh, “You used her to get to Magnussen. Look how well that turned out.”

“She’s been will compensated and residing in a lovely cottage with some healthy bee hives. I hardly see where the problem lies,” Sherlock said smugly, though the only thing he considered a victory was the fact that he had convinced his former pretend girlfriend to keep the beehives that had been there when she bought the property with the money she had earned after he had burned her with his lies.

John tuned Sherlock out and sighed with boredom and remorse. He vowed he’d continue to wait or do anything he needed to until he was able to speak to Cathy again.

Sherlock attempted once more to get John to leave the flat in order to get dinner and to pull a prank of Mycroft by charging a fortune to his tab at the Diogenes Club. John still could not be bothered and so once more, Sherlock left with all his dramatics in tow.

John had nodded off near suppertime but awoke, startled when he saw a ethereal figure entering the door. It took several blinks to chase the sleep from his tired eyes and moaned in relief when, in the dim lighting from the street lamps, he saw it was the one person he had been pining over for days.

“Christ, Cathy,” John breathed out and bolted from his chair. He approached the woman without hesitation and pulled her tightly against him. He jumped back in fear when she cried out, sound like he had just burned her with his touch. He reached past her and flipped the lights on.

John cried out with his own pain though it was more emotional while the younger woman’s cry had no doubt been in pain. She stood before him, pale as a ghost with heavy bags under her eyes. Her face and neck were covered in bruises, scrapes, and cuts. Her hair was pulled back into a greasy ponytail and he could see dirt under her normally pristine fingernails. 

Cathy said nothing but allowed John to slip her pea coat off of her as he asked her question after question about how she ended up in the state that she was in. She had already rehearsed this moment with Anthea for hours. She had decided she would not tell John the truth but she found it hard to tell him anything. After several questions, John respected her silence and stopped asking her questions. He figured she’d tell him when she was ready.

John could see the bruises were going further down the younger woman’s neck than her shirt allowed him to see. She had still not said a word but she looked at he brink of tears.

“Come on, come in and rest,” John said softly, guiding her in the flat. He led her to the couch where they had first devoured one another in a fit of passion but those thoughts were the furthest thing from his mind. She sat down slowly, hissing softly with discomfort as John helped her bring her feet up to rest on the couch. He propped a pillow behind her back on the armrest so she could sit up comfortably and grabbed a throw to cover her with.

Without even asking, John went to the kitchen and turned the kettle on. He pulled out the good tea and went about his business making her a strong brew. He glanced from the kitchen to the living room every few minutes to make sure she wasn’t going to disappear again. He had wanted her back at any cost but he had not expected this nor would he ever wish this. He did not want to tend to her wounds. He’d rather her be safe elsewhere than battered and broken on his couch.

When the tea was done, John brought a cup to the broken woman and then went to his chair. He pushed it, causing a loud moan from the wood floor as he moved it next to the couch. He sat down so that he could look at Cathy as she drank her tea as if she had never had it before. She gave him a weak smile as the heat of the drink radiated through her body. She held the cup to him and he took it, “More?”

Cathy nodded and John went to the kitchen and back in record time. She smiled again as the water eased her sore throat. It had been hurting her to speak after the events in Mexico. If her mouth was dry, it made it worse to talk. She beginning to feel well enough now that she managed to whisper, “Thank you.”

Those two words were like angels singing to John. He was worried that she wasn’t speaking to him. He had worked out that the yellowing bruises on her throat mimicked a hand. The idea of someone touching her made him furious but he decided to reserve his emotions for when Cathy had decided to tell him what had happened.

“Is there anything else I can get you?” John asked, desperate to make sure she was as comfortable as possible. He didn’t want to give her any reason to leave again. She shook her head, “I’m fine.”

“You’re not fine,” John blurted out but then stopped before he could get carried away. He looked to her lap in shame, clenching his fist and then releasing them only to grip the arm rests of his chair. 

“John,” the younger woman whispered, “I’m fine. I promise.” He sighed raised his gaze to meet her face. She looked calm and collected, which he could understand how that was even possible but when she held a hand out to him, he took it without hesitation. Her fingers were cold despite holding the warm teacup but her calmness seem to seep over to him and he relaxed a bit with the touch. He squeezed her hand firmly and said, “I’m sorry about the other day, it wasn’t fair to put you in a position like that.”

Cathy smiled but her eyes were laced with sadness. She had had days to contemplate their last interaction. She returned the squeeze to his protective hand, “How many strikes am I entitled to?” John couldn’t help but laugh heartily at her quoting him from their first meeting. He brought her hand to his lips and kissed it tenderly, “How many do you think you’ll need?”

The pair stayed where they were the entire night. Eventually, Cathy asked for John to move the pillow and he helped her settle down on the couch. He sat by her side and watched her sleep until his own eyes felt heavy. He drifted off and when he suddenly opened his eyes it was because of the light creeping through the blinds.

He looked to the couch and let out a sigh of relief as he saw that Cathy was still fast asleep on the sofa. He smiled, content that he knew she was here and safe with him.

“Women aren’t allowed in the Diogenes Club so we’ll have to use the back door,” Anthea explained as the car they arrived in parked in the alley behind the exclusive club. Cathy said nothing, something she had grown accustomed to over the past several days. Her body was healing and her throat felt fine but she couldn’t help but feel reserved and apprehensive. She felt content just spectating and taking everything in. The person she had spoken the most to of all people had been Anthea.

After the events in Mexico, the two women seemed to have a mutual respect and understanding for one another. Cathy wouldn’t say they were friends but the snide comments to one another had stopped. She assumed the largest reason for it was that Anthea felt guilty for putting her in the car with the savage man while Cathy understood the true severity of Anthea’s position and duties. Her support when returning from Mexico had meant more to her than she would ever vocalize and somehow, Anthea knew.

Anthea led her through the back door of the club, through a maintenance room, and down a servant’s corridor until they stopped before a plain wooden door with a brass doorknob. She knocked on the door twice before opening the door and ushering Cathy into the room.

Mycroft had an office for his own person use and it was exquisite. The colors were deep and rich, the tall oak shelves were expertly detailed with ornate carvings of flowers, and the seats looked plush but stern to remind the occupants of the room that the man who sat at the desk meant business. 

After Anthea saw that Cathy was well in the room, she closed the door and remained outside. Cathy looked to the door for a moment but then looked to the exasperated looking man sitting at the expansive mahogany desk. For once, it looked like his irritation might not have been her doing. A smug thought crossed her mind, almost yearning to be the normal pain in his backside that she loved to be.

“Have a seat,” Mycroft offered, sitting back in his own seat and looking the younger woman over. She did as he requested and looked to the aging man and observed his wrinkled outfit. He had not been home to change in some time. While the past few days had been about her own recovery, they were also for Mycroft to sort out a plethora of international affairs. 

It didn’t take long for the papers to report that there had been a coup in Mexico. A terrorist organization was expected to lead the new government in an attempt to fight back against the United States for their oppression and for old land that had been unjustly claimed at least a century ago. The young doctor tried not to read too much of the articles or allow the television to linger on the news channels. She knew more than they were reporting and she didn’t want to dwell on the events any further. She had done her job and saved lives. She was not responsible for cleaning up the mess. That was Mycroft’s job.

“Are you settling in comfortably?” Mycroft asked, and the question caught the younger woman off guard. His tone of voice suggested her was actually concerned for her wellbeing. She had not expected that. She simply nodded and he let out a huff, ”Anthea told me about this vow of silence you’ve taken since Mexico.”

A blush spread over Cathy’s cheeks. She hadn’t seen it as a vow of silence. She had just felt less talkative because when she talked, people asked questions. She did not want to talk about what had happened to her. Whether it had been the real story or the fiction that she and Anthea had concocted about being attacked on the street.

Mycroft shifted some papers around on his desk and said calmly, “We don’t need to talk about what happened in Mexico except that you performed admirably.” His eye’s caught her own and he continued, “Your initial target was a trap that we had not foreseen. The agent was not able to extracted but you treated and saved nearly a dozen of my men. You’ll be compensated accordingly.”

“I didn’t do it for the money,” Cathy croaked, her throat was dry from lack of use. Mycroft frowned, held his hand up to stop her from speaking further, and pressed a button on his phone and said, “We need refreshments, that is all.” There was no response but Cathy assumed he liked it that way because very shortly, the door she had come in from opened, an older gentlemen in a suit came in rolling a tray of assorted food and drinks.

Mycroft nodded appreciatively to the man while getting up and then ushered him out of the room. He approached the try and poured a cup of tea and she watched as he pulled a honey dipper from a container and rolled the wooden object between his fingers, keeping the honey from drinking on the tray. He dipped it down and paused for a moment, allowing a few drops of thick honey to fall into the tea before resuming the spinning and placing the dipper back into the honey. He grabbed a small spoon and stirred the tea and gently placed the spoon back down. He picked up the cup and Cathy waited for him to come back to his seat.

To Cathy’s surprise, Mycroft stepped over to her and held the tea before her. She looked up into Mycroft’s eyes in surprise and whispered a thank you as she took the cup from him. She almost couldn’t believe that Mycroft Holmes had just poured her a cup of tea himself. 

“I imagine it’s sweetened to your liking,” Mycroft said as he sat behind his desk once more. Cathy took a sip of the lightly sweetened tea and nodded, “It’s perfect.”

“That honey comes from the hives on my parent’s small farm up North. Sherlock has made sure they grow the perfect type of flowers and plants to ensure the quality of their honey is exceptional,” Mycroft explained. Cathy smiled softly and took another sip. It truly was exceptional.

There was a pause and Mycroft cleared his throat and Cathy watched as he changed from being a normal man to what Sherlock liked to call the _Iceman_. It was almost sad but the Iceman, she now understood, kept the country safe. Queen and country had no need for perfect honey or family farms. 

“It was my mistake for sending you to Mexico without any type of training or screenings,” Mycroft started, “I want to ensure you have the necessary skills and resources to fend for yourself.” He adjusted his tie and sat straight up, using a very authoritative tone he finally reached his main point, “I want you to work for me full time.”

Cathy had assumed she had made a mess of her chance in Mexico. Sure, she had saved some men but she had also frozen after being rescued from her attacker. She realized afterwards that zoning out like that could have gotten her killed had it been anyone else running after her and not Mycroft’s own men. She could not believe Mycroft would want to utilize her services again but somehow she had passed his test. She couldn’t help but feel that surge of pride from proving him wrong but that gut sinking feeling of whether or not she wanted to be put in another situation like the one she had just come out of.

Mycroft seemed to understand her internal dilemma and added, “You would receive the most extensive training and be eased into field work. I promise we will never drop you into a situation without properly preparing you for any eventuality.”

But what would John think if she suddenly stopped work at the hospital? He would know something was up. Perhaps he would think it had something to do with the bruises on her body. He’d assume she was suffering from some type of post-traumatic stress from the obvious attack she had faced. She knew he saw the fingerprints in the bruises on her throat. He was smart and observant, more than he gave himself credit for.

“The NHS partners with a non-profit for a program for traveling physicians. If Dr. Watson is still a concern for you, you can allude to your employment there which would account for any times you are called away,” Mycroft offered as if he were reading her mind. She didn’t like it but she also liked not having to explain everything to him as well. She met his eyes again but said nothing as she considered his offer. She took one more sip of her tea before placing the cup and saucer on Mycroft’s desk. 

“If you promise to give me the time and training I need, I think I’d be willing to give it another go,” Cathy said thoughtfully. She then bit her lip and stated, “But first,” she paused, but then finally said, “I never did get that holiday we had talked about originally.”

“Where would you like to go?” Mycroft responded smoothly.


	9. Chapter 9

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> So, I messed up when pasting the chapters in. This was supposed to be chapter 9, I accidentally had posted it as chapter 8. If you want the in-between stuff, I'd recommend reading chapter 8. Sorry about that!

Cathy stared at the straw and wood roof of their posh bungalow as John snored softly next to her. They were tangled amongst the soft sheets but the breeze from the open window kept them feeling cool. Glancing out the window, through the billowing curtains, she was able to tell the sun was high in the sky. They had slept in after their night out tasting delectable foods and drinking inventive cocktails along the small island.

Under Mycroft’s bidding, Anthea had helped the couple escape to the French Polynesian island of Bora Bora, among other places, and had not held back on any luxury or expense. The younger doctor lied about the costs, which had been paid personally by the senior Holmes brother for her “misfortunes” in Mexico. She had also received another generous deposit in her bank account and had finally come to terms with the fact she had sold her soul to the devil, who had been the highest bidder by far.

Sherlock had been furious when John announced that they were leaving the country for six weeks. John had almost not believed the younger woman when she had showed up at Baker Street with the printed tickets and twenty-four hours of notice to pack a bag. She knew if she had presented the idea of a vacation to John that he would have over analyzed the planning and the costs, plus Sherlock would have found a way to make him have second thoughts, and they would be spending another Saturday night at the pub by her flat.

Things had slowed down for Cathy, which she had been more than grateful for as her body and mind healed from the disastrous events that she had faced overseas. Her bruises had faded to only slight discolorations that were hardly noticeable unless known to look for them. Despite the disappearance of the marks on her skin, she had noticed John had been more delicate with her than he had ever been. The sex was still enjoyable but she had begun to crave their carnal sessions.

With a content sigh, the young doctor stretched her body, pulling the sheets from her naked form and reveling in the pulling in her joints. John, deep in sleep, did not stir, which caused the brunette to smile as she turned toward him and pressed a soft kiss to his bare shoulder. She then ran her hand softly along his back, watching as his eyelashes softly fluttered on his pillow. He had somehow settled on his stomach during the night, hugging his pillow like a life preserver. 

The polish on Cathy’s nails had mostly chipped away from her time on the pale sandy beaches and wading in the crystal clear water. She could care less as her soft hands ran over the firm muscles of the older man’s back, allowing the tips of her fingers to fall and rise and in ever divot and crest. A soft moan began to escape from the slumbering man and she grinned warmly when his eyes slowly opened and focused on her face, haloed by the light from the window behind her.

“Am I in heaven?” John asked, drunk from his pleasant slumbers, and smiled lazily at her. She ran her hand back up his back, over his neck, and then playfully curled her fingers through his short, graying hair. He closed his eyes and moaned again, “Yup, this is heaven.”

“Well, you’re easy to please,” Cathy giggled, “I didn’t even have to go down on you.”

John sprung one eye open, “Hey now, you can’t go around saying things like that unless you plan on following through.” 

Without another word, Cathy pulled away. He tried to reach an arm out to her but stopped when he realized she was pulling the sheets away from him. He rolled over to assist her with the task as well as to provide her the access she needed. It was hardly an inconvenience considering what he was about to receive for his “troubles.”

Once the sheets had been pushed down to his ankles, John leaned up quickly to grab the sun-kissed woman by her wrists and pulled her body on his, holding her flush against him. 

“You didn’t give me a good morning kiss,” John smiled before putting his strong hand on the back of her neck and pulled her in for a deep kiss. Their tongues explored familiar spaces as if they had never done so before as Cathy straddled his waist. When they pulled away, they both panted, staring intently into each other’s eyes. She gave him a playful smirk before leaning down to nip his bottom lip before peppering kisses down his jaw line, slowing pulling her body down to her original destination.

John couldn’t help but release her wrists and put a hand behind his head, laying back with leisure as his other hand gently tangled in Cathy’s dark locks. He reveled in the feeling of her soft, wet lips leaving a moist trail down his chest and abdomen. She went at a lazy pace that he didn’t mind as he grew harder with every inch she moved down his body. He had been uncertain about how well they would travel together for an extended period of time but he was convinced now that this trip had been one of the greatest things he had ever agreed to. It was an incredible freedom to not rush in fear of Sherlock coming home and ruining the mood or being interrupted by the screeching pager calling the younger doctor back to the hospital at a moment’s notice. 

Cathy teased John as she blew air across his cock, smiling as it twitched and he gasped. She looked up his body to see him staring at her with admiration and lost. She blinked at him for a moment, taking in his familiar features and still feeling at awe that this beautiful man was so enamored with her. While she was aware that she could have any number of men ready to claim her, she had never found someone quite like John and while she felt fonder than ever about him, she wondered if she was meant to feel more. Was she supposed to be dreaming of marrying him and having his kids or was what they were doing enough?

“You’re so gorgeous,” John said with a low voice that seemed to rumble down his body, even to his legs that the dark-eyed beauty was running her hands along. She blushed but said nothing as she lowered her head and took his erection in her mouth in one swift motion, allowing him to hit he back of her throat without difficulty.

“Christ!” John gasped and tightened his grip in the younger woman’s hair. She moaned at the roughness but it seemed he had realized what he had just done and lightened his grip. The disappointment was slight but she made a mental note to have a discussion with him about it later.

The wet sounds were washed out by the sound of the sea outside along with the symphony of moans escaping from John. “That mouth,” John groaned, “it was made for this.”

Cathy moaned with acknowledgment, allowing the vibrations to make him moan louder. She lightly cupped his balls, feeling the mess caused from her current task and could feel him start to tense. After a few minutes, she finally pulled away but only to say, “I want you to cum in my mouth. I want to taste you.”

A string of curses escaped from John as his toes curled and he struggled to keep his hips down. “I’m gonna,” he gasped, “I’m gon-”

With a final, long grunt, John climaxed.

Cathy pulled back for a moment and then made a filthy show of showing him his cum on her tongue and lips before swallowing it.

“My dirty girl,” John chuckled and then motioned for Cathy to join him back at the head of the bed. She smiled, and crawled up beside his body. His hand dropped from behind his head and he wrapped his arm around her, pulling her close to his side.

John kissed the top of her head, “You’re incredible.”

“I know,” Cathy giggled as he nudged her with chin to get her to look at him. He lifted his head slightly and pressed his lips against hers, softly using his tongue to gain entrance to her mouth. He could taste himself but didn’t mind. He knew Cathy loved kissing. She had told him once closer to when they had first met that it was her single most favorite thing to do with a partner and he had felt so relieved that she had thoroughly enjoyed snogging him. He kissed her deeply to express his satisfaction with what she had just done for him.

When their lips finally parted, Cathy rested her head on his firm chest and sighed contently as he ran his fingers up and down her spine. She used her free hand to draw lazy circles above his belly button, playing with the light hairs that formed his happy trail. The hair was so light against his newly tanned skin that from afar his torso looked smooth without a hair in sight. 

“You know,” Cathy finally said, “you can be a little rougher with me. You know I don’t mind.” Not only did she not mind, she enjoyed it.

There was a pause and his hand stopped moving along her back. It rested firmly between her shoulder blades as if he didn’t know what to do next. Even Cathy had stopped drawing imaginary circles on John’s skin. She lifted her head to look at him and frowned when she saw the complex emotions running through him.

“I’m ok now,” Cathy said, voicing the concern she knew he felt, “I’m not bruised.”

John took her words in and then carefully replied, “I don’t know what happened to you. How can you expect me to treat you anyway more than fragile after seeing you in that state?”

“Because I’m telling you I’m fine,” Cathy stated firmly and stared boldly into John’s shimmering eyes. She tried not to feel swayed by them. She loved the way the light made the flecks of gold glimmer amongst the grey and blue.

There was a strong moment of silence before John finally responded, “Can you just tell me what happened?”

Another pause.

“Cathy,” John almost pleaded but she found herself breaking her stare and looking down at the hand resting on his hip next to his spent penis. He was so vulnerable and she was taking advantage of it. He seemed to notice her gaze and moved his hand to grab the sheet and pull it over himself. She looked back to his face but could not look into his eyes again.

And their perfect morning had ended just like that. It resulted in almost two days of silence as they had left one island paradise for the next. Their seats had been separated on the flight to Hawaii but neither had made the effort to have them relocated. Naturally, they were in first class and Cathy could feel John’s eyes burning into the side of her head from his seat along the other side of the plane and a few rows behind her. She pretended to sleep the entire flight and wished more than anything she could be on the Concord again to make the trip end sooner.

“Aloha!” called the welcoming women when they finally departed the plane. The pair politely smiled past them, neither feeling festive nor interested in tourist charades.

“Flight ok?” John simply asked when they had finally gotten in the private car already waiting for them at the airport just like with every airport they had landed at for the entire trip. Cathy nodded, running her finger around the rim of a champagne glass in an embedded shelf by her seat. There was also a bottle of champagne that neither was interested in opening.

There were several minutes of silence before Cathy opened the dark window dividing the back of the car from the driver. She had asked how long the ride would take to get to their destination and she was informed politely it would be nearly an hour. She had been advised that island traffic made going the shortest distances take a considerable amount of time.

The silence returned and Cathy looked out the tinted windows to palm trees and traffic, sighing to herself. She had begun to count the number of Hawaiian shirts on tourists as they slowly made their way through Honolulu. 

“That’s it!” John finally declared and Cathy snapped her gaze to him. She pushed herself back as she watched him dive towards her but refrained from letting out a cry of fear that had lodged itself in her throat. When his hand went for the window control to close the divider again, she allowed herself to relax back down in her seat. For a moment she was back in Mexico with Gil trying to force himself on her, and John’s sudden reaction had made her heart feel like it had ripped out of her chest and flopped to the ground. 

John looked confused yet tormented as he watched her press herself against the door in an attempt to increase the space between them. His angered expression softened and when the window had finally closed and they had their privacy again he said, “And this is why I can’t be rough with you.”

The words stung as Cathy was reminded just how much she was committing to the lie she was determined to keep and how it was affecting the person she cared about most. Still, she had no intention of telling John of her career choices as she was determined not to lose him. She realized if she was going to keep this double-life of hers going smoothly, she was going to need to learn how to compartmentalize her life as well as her emotions and feelings. 

“I don’t know who raped you and I swear to god I wish I could rip their throat out but you can’t expect me to act like nothing ever happened to you,” John said passionately. There was anger in his voice but she could hear the concern and worry laced into every word. His hands were clenching and unclenching as he looked expectantly at her as she peeled herself away from the door. 

“I wasn’t raped,” Cathy stated quietly, which was mostly true, as she remembered the spray of blood on her back and the confusion of the moment when Gil’s body collapsed on her. He had almost raped her and as her mother had often said when she was a child, _almost doesn’t count_. She slightly shook her head to bring her attention back to her angered lover.

John sighed, “Then what happened? Because I can’t continue this vacation knowing that you’re hiding something from me.

Anthea’s voice echoed in Cathy’s head as she remembered the lie she had coached her on. She had been so hesitant to use it because it would bring another party into the lie and she wasn’t sure she could handle trusting another person to keep her lie.

“I was attacked waiting for the bus coming home from work,” the younger woman finally said in defeat. Her shoulders dropped and she looked down at her bare knees. Her black shorts left her tanned thighs exposed and she found herself nervously rubbing the skin, remembering the feel of the gravel in her skin when she had been dragged from the car.

“Bullshit,” John spat out Cathy cringed as he reached out and took one of her hands off her leg and said, “If it were that simple, you would have told me sooner.”

Cathy raised her gaze to his face and frowned when she saw how deep the lines in his face were. He had been so relaxed that it was only when John had bad dreams that she ever saw his worry lines. They had never been more pronounced than they were at that moment.

Without a thought, Cathy reached out and touched John’s cheek. Despite being in each other’s constant company for the past two days, they had not touched. It had been torture but the two doctors were both stubborn and refused to give in to the other.

She pulled her hand from his face before she said, “I killed the man who hurt me.” Mostly true, she thought again.

The tension that filled the car was nearly choking her and she searched John’s face for some hint at what he was thinking. His expression was frozen and for a moment she was convinced that the entire trip was over, that she should tell the driver to head straight back for the airport. 

Cathy was sick of silence and she finally whispered, “Please say something.” She pulled her hand from his in the process.

John blinked at her several times, opening his mouth to say something and then seemingly changing his mind. Finally he said, “Do we need to get you a lawyer?”

“It was self-defense. There will be no charges,” she replied and frowned, “I’m sorry I didn’t tell you but I didn’t want you to think of me as a killer.” The lie felt so foreign on her tongue but she kept reminding herself they were half-truths but she was a doctor and meant to be a healer, not a murderer. 

“Christ,” John breathed out, “you should have told me.”

“I know but Superintendent Lestrade said it was best to keep things quiet,” she lied. Anthea had promised that Lestrade was on Mycroft’s payroll and would agree to any story they put before him. This also included what would be released to the public with any cases that had to be handled delicately. 

“Greg knows about this and he didn’t tell me?!” John asked incredulously. 

Cathy looked concerned, “Are you mad I didn’t tell you or mad about what I did?”

John laughed, something she had not expected but he explained, “I killed a man for Sherlock when I thought he was in danger. How could I blame you for defending yourself?”

The younger woman failed to see how it was a laughing matter but she supposed they were entitled to a darker humor and with her new line of work she was going to need to adjust to having dark secrets. She just hadn’t expected John to be so forthcoming about his own. It only made her feel worse about the ones she still kept.

John scooted closer to Cathy and she allowed him to pull her close to him. He nuzzled his nose in her hair, inhaling the light scent of mangos left from the previous resort’s shampoo before kissing the crown of her head. 

“I know you don’t want me saying it but I have to,” John quietly mumbled against her hair as he felt her arms wrap around him, deepening their embrace, “but I love you so much and I don’t want to lose you.”

Cathy could think of nothing to say. She just buried her face into his chest and twisted her fingers into the fabric of his shirt, holding on tightly. Her lack of reciprocation wounded him, though he was prepared for it this time.

True to the driver’s word, they did arrive at their ocean side cottage within the hour. It was late afternoon and John had wanted to eat, perhaps nap, and get started on exploring in the morning. His younger companion had immediately ripped apart her luggage and declared, with bikini in hand, that she was ready for a swim.

John set aside his own wants and put his swimming trunks on before grabbing two large towels. He did not want Cathy swimming alone but also, he didn’t think the view of her in her simple black bikini was a bad one at all. In fact, it had been one of his favorite views the entire trip.

“Let’s go!” Cathy yelled as she skipped through the sand ahead of John and made a beeline to the blue ocean water. The waves gently crashed on the pale sandy shore and the breeze lightly kissed their skin.

The pair found themselves more than impressed with their current accommodations. They were in a small private residence that had natural rock formations that carved out a nearly exclusive section of beach for them. It was as if they were amongst the arms of a great stone protector. 

John laid out the towels before joining the younger woman amongst the warm waves and laughed when she tried to splash him with water. They waded deeper until their toes were barely touching the sand beneath and marveled at how clear the water still was.

“I don’t think I could ever get used to all this beauty,” Cathy said, as she began to float on her back and faced the sky. There were hardly any clouds in the sky. 

“That’s how I’ve felt everyday since I met you,” John responded with admiration in his voice. 

There was a slight pause, the only sound being from the water as she slipped her body under the waves and turned herself to face him. He looked so powerless as he floated, trying to keep his chin from going underneath the water. He had a loving but slight smile on his face and the adoration was apparent in his eyes.

Despite all the hell that Cathy had put John through and after all of his own battles, it truly felt like a miracle this man was still here and still enamored with her.

Cathy grabbed John’s arm and started to swim towards the shore, towing him behind her. When they were finally able to stand securely, with the water at their waists, she threw her arms around his shoulders and pulled him into her. She crashed her salty lips against his own and he responded by wrapping his arms around her and pulling her even more tightly against his own body.

John’s mouth tasted of old coffee and salt but it didn’t matter. She kissed him deeply tangled her fingers into his wet locks. When they pulled away to breath for a moment, a look of fear fell over her face as she said, “I think I love you.”

There was hardly a pause as John crashed his lips back to Cathy’s and his hands ran down her back, over her bum, and gripped her thighs. With hardly any effort, John pulled the younger woman up and she wrapped her legs around his waist, causing her to feel how hard he was for her.

John carried Cathy out of the water as if she weighed nothing and broke their lip lock for only a moment to ensure where he was going. He laid her down on their towels and covered her body with his own. He kissed her fiercely, excited by her words, even if she seemed unsure. But then she surprised him further.

“I love you,” Cathy said again, as a whisper while he pulled from her lips to begin kissing her neck, worshipping the salty skin with his lips, tongue, and teeth. He groaned as the words were repeated and sounder more sure then they sounded minutes ago. She groaned as he bit her neck hard enough that she’d have a mark but she didn’t care. She had never imagined the words would ever leave her lips and feel so good. She had let them out by accident in the water and she couldn’t take them back. She realized immediately that she didn’t want to take them back. It had been exhilarating saying them as if she had just thrown herself into a free fall with no idea how she was going to land. John had been her landing and she suddenly understood why people were so addicted to chasing love.

The older man pawed at Cathy’s breasts, her nipples were hard from the gentle breeze blowing over the wet fabric of her dark bikini and he made quick work pulling the thin strings and throwing the fabric aside. Her tongue swirled around her left nipple as his fingers mimicked the motions on the right. He pressed his erection against her thigh before sliding his thigh between her legs and pressing against her.

“John,” Cathy whined, “I want you. Please, I’m sorry.”

“You have nothing to be sorry for,” John said as he pulled himself up to look into her dark eyes. _Little does he know_ , she thought as he crashed his lips back to hers while he reached down to push his red swim trunks far enough to allow him to escape from their confines.

It only took a swift pull of the strings and the bikini bottom was no longer a barrier between the two and John had quickly and fully thrust inside of her, savoring the feeling of her wet heat as well as her short nails lightly raking down his arms. She groaned with satisfaction as he quickly sorted out his pace.

John loved watching Cathy throw her head back, eyes closed and mouth open searching for air as if it were running away from her. He lifted one of his hands, supporting his weight on one arm so that he could brush a few wet locks of hair from her face before tangling his fingers in them.

“Say it one more time, please,” John requested through his heavy pants. He felt embarrassed that he was so close but when she felt her legs squeeze his thighs, he knew she wouldn’t be lasting long either.

Cathy used her legs to control his hips and slow their pace. Her chest heaved as she tried to lift her face to look him square in the face. Her eyes were wild and her lips swollen and red. John could feel her looking into him as if he was more than just a scarred man with a sad story. 

John pulled his hand from her hair to help distribute the weight of his body between his arms as he looked down at the women that held so much power over him. He began to frown as he realized the words he wanted to hear were not being said but then she raised her hands to his and pushed hard, bring him to sit back on his heels and making his knees ache a bit.

She sat up, grabbed John by the shoulders and threw the man on his back to the spot she had just been laying. John couldn’t help but groan as he felt a wet spot from her dripping cunt. Before he could think of what to do next, she had decided for him by climbing on his lap and grabbing his painfully hard cock. She stroked the smooth, wet skin and savored the noises he made and the way he bit his lip. She smiled before raising her hips so line him up to her entrance. He looked at her with desperation as she rubbed the smooth head over her clit before she finally but slowly lowered herself down until he was nestled completely inside of her. 

Cathy controlled the pace, which was excruciating slow for John who just wanted to cum so badly. He cried out when she suddenly halted her movement but lowered her head and torso down until her breast pushed into his chest. Her face was inches from his and he found it hard to focus on her lovely features. He picked his head up in an attempt to meet her in another lip lock but she turned her head slightly so that their cheeks pressed together. Her hot breath hit his ear before she kissed the skin before it. She nuzzled against the side of his head and finally said in a calm voice, “I love you, John Watson.”

That was all it took for John to groan as his toes curled and his hips thrust up. He wrapped his arms around Cathy and pulled her body tightly against his as came.

The pair remained still, enjoying the sounds of their breaths against each other’s skin with the sound of the ocean and birds around them. It was Cathy who finally began to move first but paused when she saw the worried look on the older man’s face.

“What’s wrong?” she asked, feeling a growing pit of concern in his stomach. She slowly pulled herself from him, brushing back salty locks of hair from her concerned face. John sat up, “You didn’t come.”

Cathy couldn’t help but laugh to the point she had to wipe tears from her eyes. John smirked but he didn’t seem to spot the joke. When Cathy reduced her laughter to giggles she said, “Today was about you. To show you how much I appreciate you.”

“To show you how much you love me?” John asked with a quizzical brow. He suddenly worried her declaration of love was to appease him. She stood up, saying nothing as she grabbed her bikini bottoms and tied them back on. She was looking distantly toward the rocks. John frowned but said nothing as he got up and pulled up his swimming trunks as Cathy tied her top back on as well.

Suddenly she declared, “Someone’s watching us.”


	10. Chapter 10

Mycroft had just poured himself a cup of tea and was sitting by the fireplace of his expansive library. After a rather late evening tiptoeing around politicians from various South American countries and speaking in Spanish more in the past evening than he had in nearly three decades of being fluent, he felt that he had earned a reprieve. It was nearly four in the morning and he would have to be out of the door for other sorts of mundane affairs in less than two hours. He knew there was no point in even amusing the idea of sleep.

It was rare that the aging civil servant had moments of peace such as this and it was even rarer that he was able to let his mind pause. All the imagery, texts, thoughts, and theories of everything in the world around him seemed to fall from his mind like a bullet dropping from the sky after loosing its momentum. He settled deeper into his favorite chair and sipped his tea.

A drip of honey had caught on the rim of the teacup and stuck to his lip as he drank. He settled the teacup down on the small table beside him and licked at the granular sweetness and sighed. After months of a low carbohydrate diet, the rich honey he dribbled in his tea was the thing he enjoyed most to get a fix for his sweet tooth but even so, it was still done in moderation. He couldn’t complain as he had lost the last few stubborn pounds that had refused to leave his sides and face. He had been overweight until he had left for university as a young man but was never as lean as he was now at fifty-five. 

Mycroft reveled in the silence of his library, being sung to by the cracking and popping of the fireplace. The heat tickled his toes and spread warmth up his body. If only he could have spent his entire evening like this instead of doing damage control from the failed operations in Mexico. The country was going to remain under a terrorist organization’s dictatorship and possibly spread to other countries, including the United States, if they did not find a way to control the situation. The thoughts were far from his mind though.

Then Mycroft’s phone rang and it was Dr. Moyle.

“Enjoying the holiday?” Mycroft answered with a grumble, upset with the intrusion to his peaceful solitude. The normally sarcastic young women responded with a question, “Are we being followed?”

“Pardon?” Mycroft asked with both annoyance and curiosity. Then his heart rate rose as she explained, “There’s been a man following us since at least Tahiti. I saw him in Bora Bora but thought it was just coincidence but he was watching John and I on the beach just now.”

The doctor’s voice was hushed as she explained her suspicions to her employer. He knew she must have broken away from her companion to have the conversation in private. There was no way she would be able to explain why she had Mycroft on speed dial.

“Are you having us followed?”

Mycroft frowned and replied, “No.”

“Then what the hell am I supposed to do?” Cathy hissed. Mycroft could hear the fear and panic in her voice, something he knew they were going to need to train her on. She was with John Watson and that was enough to keep Mycroft from being worried. He was a brave man and an excellent soldier. It also helped that John was severely devoted to the younger woman and would ensure her safety while he sent for reinforcements. Thankfully, the British government had agents in every country in the world and every state in America. Getting someone to them would only take an hour at most.

The relaxation and ease Mycroft had been enjoying had vanished in a moment. He would be more upset if this were not a regular occurrence in his life. He had accepted it and understood that his role in this world made his individual wants and needs invalid. 

Mycroft spoke calmly, placing his phone on speaker so that he could text and asked, “Where’s Dr. Watson?”

“John went after him,” Cathy responded with more worry in her voice. Mycroft could read her concerns for the older doctor in her voice with ease. He was pulling up a map of the cottage’s property on his phone as well as the island as it had been a long time since he had been to his residence. While he remembered the layout of his own property, he could not be sure of the changes to the surrounding area. He had not told Cathy that the cottage was one of his many vacation homes that he had obtained but never used. He had no idea what a vacation even was. Most of the places that the couple had stayed at had been his own properties and because Anthea had set up the trip, no one had to know how extensive Mycroft’s personal wealth actually was.

“And you’re positive it was a man?” Mycroft questioned as he zoomed in on the map of the property. The question earned a huff from the younger woman as she responded, “Of course I’m positive.”

“Don’t get cocky,” he replied absentmindedly as he quickly sent a text to Anthea, requesting immediate access to the U.S. military satellite feed they normal hacked into with ease. The overhead view of the island was on his phone in a matter of moments. With a few flicks of his fingers he was able to zoom in over his property and then asked, “Is that you by the fire pits?”

There was a pause and then the doctor responded, “How do you… you know what, I’m not even going to bother.”

“Thank you,” Mycroft replied arrogantly and then scanned the area. He quickly found Dr. Watson weaving around clusters of palm trees but he was unable to find anyone else. He viewed the beach and the ocean but could not see any traces of a diver or vessel though he did spot towels laid out on the sand and viewed the way they bunched up and groaned, “Please don’t tell me that you had sex on my beach.”

“Fine, I won’t,” Cathy replied grumpily, “and what do you mean _your_ beach?” He zoomed out on the property again and could see her tiptoeing around the cottage. He confirmed for her, “There’s no one around besides you and Dr. Watson. Also, that is my property you’re staying at with my generosity and those are my Solandra maxima that you’re trampling in!”

“I don’t even know what that means!” Cathy yelled back but looked down at the large and bright yellow flowers with hints of purple running through them. She quickly stepped out of the flowerbed and cringed as she could clearly see where her feet had crushed some of the flowers and bent their stems. She said nothing as she tried to nonchalantly walk away from the damage. Mycroft sighed and pressed his fingers to the center of his forehead, fighting the urge to insult his newest employee.

Mycroft could hear John’s voice in the background as he asked, “Are you calling the police? You can tell them we chased him off.”

“Yes,” Cathy said smoothly, impressing Mycroft as she spoke into the phone, “I think the intruder is gone. You don’t need to send anyone.”

Mycroft replied with a displeasing tone, “Please try to keep your coital activities indoors from now on.”

“We’ll try our best. Thanks for your help, ma’am.”

The line clicked and Mycroft couldn’t help but let out an annoyed sigh. Clearly the extended vacation was proving successful in returning the young doctor back to her cheeky self. He wasn’t sure if he should be glad about it but he’d rather have an obnoxious and fully functioning doctor on his staff than a damaged girl he felt responsible for. He would just have to cope.

The silence and his now cold tea left Mycroft feeling disappointed with his last few moments of solitude. With less than an hour left before he needed to be out the door, he decided it was best to begin showering and finding another suit to get him through the coming day. With a few final texts, he was able to have additional security to respond discreetly to his Hawaiian cottage. They would remain invisible in the form of hired help such as gardeners and maintenance crew. It was all he would be able to do until the couple returned home or the mysterious man following them made another appearance. 

Molly Hooper adored Sherlock Holmes despite their sometimes tense history but at that very moment, she wanted to murder him. On a more positive note, she knew her way around a dead body and could think of dozens of ways to achieve the desired results without any evidence of her involvement.

It had taken the quirky pathologist nearly two years to find the perfect assistant and Sherlock had managed to chase her away in a single afternoon. They had just finished closing the body of a middle-aged drowning victim when the consulting detective swept into the morgue and announced he was bored beyond belief. In the past Sherlock happily pretended that Gemma, the burly Hungarian who just barely passed her medical school examinations but had shown a knack for microbiology, had hardly existed. On this day, his attention turned to her.

“Perhaps if you learned how to pluck those stray whiskers you might have a better chance of obtaining a social life,” Sherlock hissed when she had quietly asked him to step away from the microscope she was preparing slides for. She had considered the consulting detective handsome but had noticed how he tried to manipulate her superior. She was glad that Molly did not allow him to walk all over her though the pathologist had confessed it took years before she could stand up to her friend.

“Sherlock!” Molly yelled as her assistant grabbed her bag and ran out of the laboratory while choking back a sob. She pulled off her bloody gloves and punched Sherlock’s arm as hard as she could. “She has a hormone disorder and feels bad enough as it having a mustache!” Molly explained, looking regrettably out the door. She groaned, “You better hope she comes back or you’re in trouble Sherlock.”

“Not important,” was all Sherlock had to say. He pulled off his coat and threw it over a clean counter. He rolled up his sleeves and declared that he needed body parts to experiment on.

Molly had been made aware of John’s relationship with the incredibly young doctor that had worked only briefly at St. Bart’s. She had become acquainted with her while she was finishing up her schooling but had never imagined she would sweep John off his feet and take him globetrotting. She knew that without his best friend, Sherlock was losing his mind. The small woman tried to pry some information from him in an attempt to see how well he was coping having John’s attention being diverted but it only caused him to huff with more annoyance.

Molly felt it best to just allow Sherlock to have a few organs that she had been meaning to save for the first-year medical students. Her sanity was worth more than seeing the expressions of the weak ones. Every year, her and Mike Stamford would place bets on the likely candidates that would pass out or get sick when presented with their first human body parts to dissect and examine. It was humorous and more logical than wasting a full cadaver.

It was nine in the evening when Molly finally clocked out of work. She couldn’t wait to go home and kick off her shoes. Her feet had developed sores from the new shoes she had only just gotten. She always hated breaking in new shoes but it was a necessary evil. She had forgotten all about Sherlock until she came out of the staff locker room with her things. She felt encumbered by her gym bag as she had recently decided she needed to exercise before work in the hospital gym. The scale in her bathroom started displaying numbers higher than she felt comfortable with. Gemma had tried to tell her she had nothing to worry about. Her figure was still slim but she could feel her hips getting snugger in her jeans.

“I’m going home,” Molly muttered to Sherlock, bumping into him as the door behind her slammed shut. Her tired voice matched the exhausted look in her eyes. She couldn’t be bothered to even look up to meet his eyes. She could feel his eyes burning her skin but shrugged away and walked past him.

“I thought we could order in a curry,” the taller man called to her back. She paused but did not turn around, “I’m not in the mood to host tonight.”

Molly started to shuffle her feet forward and then sighed when Sherlock stepped before her. She looked up into his face and could see how desperate he looked. For a man who had declared himself above the need for companionship on multiple occasions, he had a hard time proving it.

“Come to Baker Street. You can even sit in John’s chair this time,” Sherlock offered. It had been years since Molly had invited to Baker Street personally by the consulting detective. Normally, John would invite her over for holidays, special occasions, or when her expertise was needed. In fact, the last time that she had been asked to Baker Street by Sherlock was when John had left for two weeks to honeymoon with Mary. It had only taken three days before Sherlock was not so discreetly begging for company.

Molly sighed again, “Sherlock…” 

She looked into his eyes and could feel them working against her defenses. He truly looked that pathetic. She huffed, “Only if you’re paying.”

“Fair enough,” Sherlock quickly agreed. The pair walked slowly out of the hospital, the pace set by Molly’s tortured feet. Sherlock had noticed she was in discomfort but said nothing. The pathologist was grateful that her aggravating friend had gotten better at not kicking her while she was down. Occasionally he would deduce things about her during some playful banter while working in the lab. It had been ages since he had embarrassed her and she was glad to have it that way.

The trip to Baker Street was wholly uneventful to the point that Molly had dozed off with her face pressed against the cool window facing the opposing traffic while the detective called in an order for their dinner. Sherlock nudged her awake when they arrived and carried her clunky gym bag for her. While she waited behind Sherlock as he unlocked the front door with the crooked knocker, Molly looked up and down the street lazily. Her eyes could hardly focus, causing the streetlights to glow like ethereal orbs.

“In you go,” Sherlock said calmly and held the door open for Molly just as a voice announced, “Delivery for Sherlock Holmes?”

“That’d be me,” Sherlock said, digging into his pocket and pulling out a folded note and handing it to the deliveryman. Molly looked back at the man with his pale skin and dark hair. She frowned as she examined him and then shook her head. She thought to herself that she really should have just gone home and went to bed. Sherlock managed to spot her reaction but said nothing. He told the man to keep the change and then carried the food along with Molly’s gym bag up the stairs behind her.

Molly wasted no time in plopping in John’s chair as soon as she dropped her purse and kicked off her shoes. Sherlock placed her gym bag by her purse and went to the kitchen to arrange their dinners on plates. He heard the TV come on and sighed when he heard the obnoxious voices from some dimwitted reality show. 

The tiny pathologist stared blankly at the television and hummed to herself. Her pulse had momentarily spiked when she had seen the deliveryman. It was as if she had seen a ghost. He had vaguely resembled her dangerous ex-lover James Moriarty. It was a silly thought to think he could be alive and delivering curry for a living. She was just so tired that everything looked rather fuzzy. She could barely make out what she was watching. Her mind was having a hard time concentrating on anything.

“Molly?”

The small brunette startled and looked up at Sherlock. She gave him a meek smile as he handed her a plate with the curry chicken and a large helping of rice. She had been trying to cut down on the carbs but said nothing. Sherlock handed her a fork before sitting down in his own chair and looking at the television.

“What utter crap,” he muttered but Molly barely responded. She just simply nodded and took a bite of the chicken. It was delicious but she was too tired to want to indulge in a full dinner. 

“What’s the matter?” Sherlock asked, looking at the rather despondent pathologist that he had come to heavily respect over the years. He could tell she was tired but she had been in a mood all day and he had done his best to ignore it along with the fact that he had chased away her assistant as well. “You looked oddly at the man delivering our food. Is something the matter?” Sherlock added.

Molly looked to Sherlock with her tired eyes and set the plate of food on the end table next to the chair. She shook her head, “I’m just so exhausted, Sherlock. I should go home.” She made a move to stand but Sherlock held a hand up, “Stay.”

“Sherlock, I can’t be John. I don’t have the energy to…”

“I want you to be you. Just stay,” Sherlock responded, “Be Molly Hooper and stay.”

Some energy seemed to return to Molly’s features as she looked confused to Sherlock, “Is something the matter, Sherlock?”

There was a pause and the curly haired man responded, “I asked you first.”

“I told you I was tired,” Molly shot back and looked suspiciously at her friend. He frowned, “If you tell me what’s really wrong, I’ll do the same.”

There was a moment of silence as Molly studied the features of her handsome friend. They had known each other for years and she had adored him all this time. The love she felt for him had managed to fall to hardly a simmer as she knew it was not something that would be in the cards for her. Sherlock was a complicated man who did not do relationships. She wasn’t even sure if he knew what it was like to be attracted to someone who wasn’t a sociopath like he claimed to be.

“Deal.”

With a deep sigh Molly said calmly, “I’m almost forty years old and I’m alone. I’ll always be alone.”

“You’re not alone right now,” Sherlock pointed out though he knew what she meant. Aside from John, Molly was one of his greatest friends. She had seen him through so many issues over the past decade and more. He had dragged her through the mud and she still allowed him to do things like drag her to Baker Street to keep him company when he really deserved to be alone in his own misery. 

“That’s not what I meant,” Molly replied but said nothing else. She looked into Sherlock’s aging blue eyes, “I don’t mean anything against John’s girlfriend but how nice it must be to be young and beautiful. She can have any man she wants at any age. I don’t even have the luck of finding someone who isn’t one foot in the grave already.”

Molly placed a hand over her lips and whispered an apology. She had not meant to sound coldly towards the young doctor but she was so envious. Molly was not jealous that she had John, though it was a dark secret that when Sherlock had “died” that she and John had spent several weeks consoling each other in her bedroom despite the fact she had hidden the truth the detective’s fall. He had been afraid to be in Baker Street without Sherlock as if his ghost were there. Molly had allowed John to sleep on her couch. A few nights after the fall, Molly had bought a rather large bottle of vodka to wash away the guilt. John had used it to numb the pain. When morning hit and they realized what they had done, they carried on without a care in the world. It took two months before John decided to end their affair in favor of counseling and shortly after he had met the woman who would become Mary Watson. The rest was history.

Sherlock could see conflicted emotions running across his friend’s face. He knew better than to pry to hard or she’d block him out. He needed a friend more than anything at the moment. He hated being without John and having a companion with him. He considered his words carefully and said, “I need help. I don’t want to be… alone.”


	11. Chapter 11

A tropical storm had rolled over the island two days after the couple’s arrival. Luckily enough, Cathy and John did not have to evacuate the beach house as the larger waves had battered the far side of the island. They stayed inside and enjoyed the luxurious property to the fullest.

The master bedroom had a gorgeous bathroom with a large hot tub that they had spent hours in. The younger woman had never made love in a hot tub and she joked with John after they had spilled water across the floor that she could add it to her list of experiences along with the plenty of other things they had done during their travels.

“I wouldn’t mind seeing that list,” John had said with a chuckle. Cathy couldn’t help but frown, “Does it bother you that I’ve had a lot of sex?”

There was a pause and John answered, “I’d be a hypocrite if I said it did.”

“I’m sorry, but what?” Cathy asked, shifting off of John and pushing herself out of the steaming water to sit on the edge of the tub. Her naked body glistened from the soft lighting provided by the grey sky outside. Her legs were pressed together with her palms on top of her smooth thighs, covering her exposed nipples. She was not covering herself in shame but guarded herself.

John sighed, “I’m not saying you’re… anything, I’m just saying you’re young and you’ve been around the block. Probably more than I have.”

“I’m an adult, John” the brunette said boldly, “and I’m not afraid of enjoying myself as long as I’m being safe and everything is consensual.”

John rubbed his forehead, wishing he had not opened his mouth. He was trying to think of how to get himself out of this situation when she continued, “All sex really is, is friction.”

“Stop!” John said before she got herself too worked up, “I didn’t mean anything by it. I don’t care how much sex you’ve had. I just care I’m the only one you’re having sex with now.”

The aging doctor knew that Cathy had a hard time letting things go. When she got worked up she had to let out all the steam before she could calm down. He watched as the conflict in her mind raged, determining if the argument was worth it or should she just slip back in the water.

John smiled warmly as she lowered herself from the edge of the tub and slowly entered the water again. John drifted across the tub with ease and wrapped his arms around her and pulled her against him. He felt the slightest resistance before she melted against him and allowed him to kiss the corner of her mouth before slowly peppering kisses along her jawline. She purred as he gently sucked the damp skin of the neck and nipped gently. He lifted his head and pressed a warm kiss beneath her ear before whispering, “I’m sorry.”

Cathy pulled away so she could see his eyes, “I love you.”

John broke into a grin as the words left her mouth, laced with sincerity and apologies. He kissed her firmly and mumbled against her lips, “I love you.”

It seemed such a silly argument but Cathy had noticed they had multiple squabbles like this one over their trip. She realized how important they were. It had seemed that she knew John forward and backwards but she was quickly realizing that as they traveled and consumed each other’s space, they were learning new things. 

Not much later, the couple left the tub and walked around the house in towels, preparing a basic meal of sandwiches and wine before settling on the couch to watch a movie. The opening titles had barely finished before Cathy dozed off on John’s shoulder. She couldn’t fight the feeling of his fingertips grazing on her back that caused her eyelids to close.

Cathy was unsure of how long she actually had slept but she stirred from the movement of her partner. She groaned quietly and stretched her limbs as she watched him through heavy lids.

It was dark now and the rain was still falling heavy outside but something had caught John’s attention. She could see the tension in his back and shoulder’s that something was wrong. The younger doctor quickly got up and became alert in moments. She couldn’t see out the window with John in the way but she had an inkling of an idea of what he could have seen.

“What is it?” Cathy asked just barely above a whisper. John responded by holding a hand up, signaling for her to stay back. She obliged but grabbed her phone from the bamboo coffee table next to the couch and immediately began texting the owner of the house. She didn’t dare call him in front of John.

_John sees something outside. He may just be seeing things, but I think not…_

It seemed like paranoia messaging Mycroft but she knew only he could understand how that text could mean potential trouble given multiple factors. It took several moments for a response to come in.

_Mycroft is in a meeting. This is Anthea._

_Mycroft’s weapons are in the safe, under the floorboards in the master bedroom closet. The code is 462947220._

_Sending help._

Cathy looked back at John who mumbled, “I could have sworn I saw someone out there.” She held her breath, stepping closer to John and reached out slowly. She whispered his name softly.

“John…”

The small woman knew better than to startle the old soldier and she tried to touch him as calmly as she could but as soon as her fingertips brushed John’s bicep, he spun around and grabbed her arm, quickly twisting it and causing her turn, making it easy for him to pin her wrist to her shoulder blade.

“John!” Cathy screamed in pain as she felt her shoulder socket burn from the unnatural movement and stretch. He swung his free arm around her in an attempt to grip her throat but she pulled away before his fingers could find a hold. She kicked her leg back, cringing as she connected her heel into John’s knee, causing him to trip against her. The last thing she wanted to do was hurt John but it was dark and he was in a trance. She needed to protect herself until he came out of it.

The younger woman managed to move fast enough that she could pull away from John just as the window they struggled near shattered around them. She glanced up at the wall the window faced and paled at the sight of the obvious bullet hole that had not been there moments prior.

“Come on!” she yelled, grabbing John by his arm but hissing with her own pain as her shoulder’s pain suddenly extended to her wrist. She knew very well he had torn her rotator cuff but she had to bare it if she wanted to get away from the window and knock John back to his senses.

John tackled her to the ground as she tried to pull him away, which was easy as she had been tugging at him like he was a stubborn dog. She felt the glass digging in her the backside of her legs and with a grunt she flipped herself over, knocking John off her. His shoulders hit an end table, causing an ornate and vintage ceramic lamp to crash on him. He tangled himself in the wire connecting it to the wall as he tried to throw it off of him.

The wind was blowing through the open window and the rain was already intruding but through it Cathy could see a figure moving around the beach. She couldn’t make any details out except that it looked like the person was reloading a weapon. He stomached dropped at the confirmation that they had been followed and observed the whole time.

With John on the floor, Cathy used the momentary distraction to run. She screamed involuntarily as she heard a gunshot and saw another bullet hole appear on the wall next to the opening of the hallway she headed for. 

The enraged doctor managed to get to his feet just as her bare feet slid on the hardwood floor into the master bedroom. She quickly slammed the door shut and was locking it just as John tackled it. She gasped as she heard the immediate cracking of the frame and knew she had only moments before the weak structure gave in.

She fell to her knees at the closet and stared at the floorboards. Had she been a less observant person, she would have missed the small knick in the crack of two panels and managed to use her fingernail to open a small panel that blended near seamlessly with the rest of the floor. A small numbered touchpad and a screen with a small red light glowed in the dim room. She jumped as she heard John tackle the door. He yelled out to her, “Open the fucking door!”

The numbers from the text were burning in her memory and with shaking fingers she managed to punch in the combination and almost rejoiced when the red light went out and a green light appeared. The door of the safe popped up from the floorboards and Cathy grabbed the first gun her fingers could wrap around. She would take inventory when she had a moment to stop fearing for her life. The last thing she wanted was for John to have a weapon to use against her so she quickly closed the safe and flipped the cover on the keypad back down just as John crashed through the bedroom door.

Cathy wasn’t even sure if the small pistol she had no knowledge on how to us even had ammunition in it. She quickly pointed the gun up at the ceiling and pulled the trigger. She froze as the loud bang assaulted her eardrums and vibrated through her bones. John fell to his knees and covered his head as drywall crumbled over him. He looked at her with range in his eyes but when she aimed the gun at him he froze and held his hands up and looked up to her.

“John,” Cathy gasped, near breathless with fear, “it’s me. It’s Cathy. I’m not your enemy but we _are_ under attack.”

Her lover blinked at her with no recognition in his features. She wanted to cry as she saw he was trying to block her words. He shook his head and growled, “Give me the gun, you bitch.”

“No, you need to calm do-” her words were cut off as a crash resounded throughout the small home and she heard their names being called out, “Dr. Watson?! Dr. Moyle?!”

John turned his head toward the destroyed doorway and Cathy used that moment to run towards him. He just barely realized she had moved when her hand clutching the gun came crashing down on his temple. His pupils had appeared to engulf his entire eyes when he looked at her. He then closed his lids as if they were unbearably heavy and his shoulders crashed to the floor. 

Cathy looked down at John for only a moment, knowing that keeping them alive from a possible assassin was the priority more so than checking that he hadn’t been hit too hard. She wasn’t exactly a strong person and her arm felt incredibly weak from his manipulations. She wasn’t too concerned about any permanent damage.

With a deep breath, she regained her determination and raised the gun. She held her arms out, hoping that she had the nerve to properly use it now that she knew it was loaded and deadly. She stepped out into the hallway and could see down it to the far window that the first shot had come through. There were flashlights outside, blinking through the heavy sheets of rain as they swept the property. She heard again a voice call for her and John but she said nothing. She quietly went toward the voice and peered around the corner. She saw a woman standing in the living room that they had only minutes before been resting comfortably in. She wore a sundress and had long dark hair that was messily tied into a bun on her head. She also wore a Kevlar vest over her brightly colored dress. 

“Who are you?” Cathy ordered more than asked the tan woman. She appeared to be a Hawaiian native but her strict posture and athletic figure as well as the badge clipped to her vest indicated she was not the stereotype of a laid back islander. 

The woman immediately raised a gun to mirror Cathy’s and ordered back, “Are you Dr. Moyle?”

“That depends on who’s asking,” Cathy said through gritted teeth. After her ordeal in Mexico and having to knock her lover unconscious, she was not taking chances with anyone or anything. She thought for a moment that Mycroft would be so proud of her but she chased the thought away quickly as she re-gripped the gun that was feeling slippery in her sweating palms.

The armed woman relaxed and lowered her weapon in what appeared to be good faith and said calmly, “Mycroft Holmes sent me, he said you needed help.”

“Prove it,” Cathy spit out, refusing to lower her weapon despite the blaring siren of pain coming from her injured shoulder. She was worried if she was going to need to shoot the gun again that her grip wouldn’t be able to contain the kick. 

The woman stuck her hand into her vest slowly, “I’m just grabbing my phone so please don’t shoot me. I left my anniversary dinner for this.”

That explained the dress and the vest thrown on as an afterthought. The doctor supposed she should feel guilty but she refused to let the words get to her. She allowed the woman to pull her smartphone from her vest and within a few moments the phone was ringing on speakerphone before finally connecting.

“Lieutenant Kalani, please tell me you have good news.”

It was clearly the voice of Mycroft Holmes who sounded rather annoyed with a touch of worry. Cathy felt a little touched by the miniscule amount of concern from the man John always called “Antarctica.” 

“I’m with Dr. Moyle, could you please tell her to lower her weap-”

A gunshot reverberated through the night as the phone fell from the woman’s hand and she dropped to her knees before eventually her whole budy fell face first onto the wet, glass covered floor. Cathy’s breath was caught in her throat as she as she glimpsed at the back of the woman’s head. Her skull lay in pieces on the floor and brain matter had sprayed all over her back.

“Dr. Moyle?” Mycroft’s voice called out from the phone still in the woman’s hand. Cathy froze and looked at the blood pooling around her head and shoulders as Mycroft called out, “Cathy!”

Cathy blinked at the mention of her name, it sounded foreign to hear her shortened name spoken by her employer but she managed to get over it quickly. She looked out past the open doorway that Lieutenant Kalani had been standing in and saw no one. She realized immediately how dangerous it was for her to continue standing where she was. She quickly dove to the ground toward the fresh body, and grabbed the phone from her hand.

“I’m ok,” Cathy said into the phone and looked around, “but she’s dead. Headshot.”

The young doctor was sure she heard a sigh of annoyance but she ignored it, “How do you suggest I get us out of here?”

“Where’s Dr. Watson?” Mycroft asked, causing her to frown. She got up and peeked out the window, blinking through the rain that blew in and could see glow of flashlights on the beach coming towards the house. 

“John is taking a little power nap,” Cathy said, “I’m more concerned about the unidentified people on this property right now, Mycroft. Who’s friend or foe?”

Mycroft quickly answered, “I’m afraid I can’t answer that for you. We were not anticipating any form of attack on you, especially in the United States.”

Cathy’s face paled in the dark, “How do you expect us to get out of here alive?”

“I’m so, so sorry,” Mycroft apologized in a tone that Cathy had never heard from either Holmes and it was something she didn’t think they were capable of expressing. It was absolute remorse. 

“Listen,” Cathy said, holding the phone close to her lips, “I have only just begun making your life miserable. This can _not_ end tonight. You need to help me get out of here because I cannot explain to Sherlock how I got his blogger killed.”

There was no immediate response but several shots fired outside, causing the doctor to jump back from the window. She lost her footing on the wet floor and fell back into the wall, slumping down it to her bottom. She glanced up and saw new bullet holes where her head had just been moments before.

The curtains were billowing around her and she tried to grab them for leverage to pull herself back up when she heard boots grinding into the pebbles of the pathway outside the front door. 

“I’m trying to-” Mycroft began to say but Cathy hissed into the phone, “I’ll call you back.” She hung up the phone and looked over to Luietenant Kalani’s body laying only feet away. She threw herself on her knees and reached a hand out toward her and smeared her hand in the woman’s blood on the floor. She cringed at the feeling but ensured her hand was coated thoroughly and stood up to slap the wall where the bullet hole was. She slid back down to the floor and laid her head back again the blood streak she just created. She put her thigh over her gun to hide it for security and waited.

It seemed like hours but was truly only moments when two men burst into the living room with guns raised up. Cathy had her face turned toward the Lieutenant and left her eyes only minutely cracked so she could still see what was happening.

The voices spoke in Spanish and she realized they had to be connected to the operation in Mexico. She wasn’t stupid but she never thought she’d be considered an important enough target to hunt down. She was going to need to have some serious talks with Mycroft if she survived this. Really, she was more worried for John than herself. She felt so stupid for not moving him somewhere safer but being a special agent wasn’t exactly her specialty as much as she wished it were. 

Cathy could tell by the tones of their voices that they were talking about her and probably gloating about how easy of a kill she was. She held her breath as one of them, a rather tall and fit man with a black military outfitting stepped over to her and kicked her leg as if he were kicking a piece of trash out of his way on the street. It took everything in her power not to respond and she even allowed her body to appear limp enough that she slid a few more inches down the wall.

Something was said and the men laughed. She could just barely make out the second man who had many of the same features that she had remember of Gil. She wondered if he was a brother or other relative of him.

The men appeared to relax a bit and started to walk towards the back of the house. Cathy panicked, worrying that they would realize John was not dead. She waited until they entered the hallway and pulled the gun from under her leg. She got up as quickly and as quietly as she could and tried to follow behind them.

With all the glass on the ground, Cathy tiptoed around it as best as she could while keeping an eye on the hallway. He stomach dropped as she heard them kick the door of a closet in but she managed to stay calm. She hugged the wall and peered into the hallway as they kicked open the doors to various rooms and closets. It was when they were finally before the door of the room where John lay unconscious that she knew she couldn’t wait. She had to act so she slipped the safety toward off on the gun so the painted red dot almost glowed in the night.

Cathy stepped away from the wall and stood in the center of the hallway opening and raised her gun. She gave no warning and made no sounds and fired at the men whose backs were facing her. Perhaps she should feel some guilt for shooting from behind but an innocent man was behind the door and she needed to protect him in anyway that she could. It wasn’t like they had been any more honorable when they had shot the Lieutenant so all displays of mercy were off the table.

The doctor held her breath and pulled the trigger just as she remembered the words to her Hippocratic oath.


End file.
